// 


5 
/-»" 


5:^  a  o^  i::^  ^c^  3::a.  ^2^ 

OF   THE 
AT 

PRINCETON,   N.  J. 

•  »  o  IV"  -■*.  n- 1  o  jv     t»  li- 

SAMUEL    AGNEW, 

or     PHILADELPHIA,     PA. 
c^Z^^^t.^ ^!  ^» -  /9  _ 

BV  4905  .K4  1831 
L  Kemper,  Frederick  Augustus,  _ 
1799-1851. 

Consolations  of  the 
afflicted 

D  BooUy  ^^0.,.^-.^ •^•:::i"  . 

X  ^  ^^ -  -   p,^-::-^^o^» 


.e<^^Qe< 


,3£<^^^SCviis 


COiVSOLATIOlVS 


OF  THE 


AIFIFim<©^l2Ii>9 


WRITTEX   BY 


FREDERICK  AUGUSTUS  KE3IPER,  A.  M. 


A  NATIVE  OF  OHIO. 


"O  thou  afflic'ed,  tossed  with  tempest  and  not  comforted,behold,I  will  lay  thy 
stones  with  fair  colois,  and  lay  thy  foundations  with  saphires.  And  I  will 
make  thy  windows  of  agates,  and  thy  gates  of  carbuncles,  and  all  thy  bor- 
ilers  of  pleasant  stones." 

"JVV>?i  ignurvs  mali,  j/iiseris  succurrere  disco.'* 
Not  ignorant  of  evil,  I  learn  to  succor  llie  miserable.       "HS^ 


'•Light  are  the  pains  that  nature  brings, 
How  short  our  sorrows  are, 

When  with  eternal  future  things 
The  present  we  compare  1" 


*»  Wherefore,  let  them  that  suffer  according  to  the  will  of  God,  corainit  the  keep- 
ing of  their  souls  to  him  in  well  doing,  as  unto  a  faithful  Creator.-' 


PRINTED  BY  WM.  J.  FERRIS  &.  CO- 


CINCINNATI. 


District  of  Ohio,  To-wii: 

BE  IT  REMEMBERED,  That  on  the  30th 
fL.  S.l^^''^""^  "^""^  ^°"''"''  '^31i  Fiederick  Augustus  Kemper,  of  k 
L     *      '-1  said  district,  hath  deposited  iu  this  office,  the  title  of  a  book,  the  . 
tie  of  which  is  in  the  words  following,  to-vvit: 

**Cpnsola,tions  of  the  afflicted.  Written  by  Fffid  eric  k  Augustus  Kemper, 
A.  M.  A  native  of  Ohio."  "O  thou  afflicted,  tossed  with  tempest  and  not 
comforted,  behold,  I  will  lay  thy  stones  with  fair  colors,  and  lay  thy  founda- 
tions with  saphires,  and  I  will  make  thy  windows  of  agates,  and  thy  gates  of 
carbuncles,  and  all  thy  bordersof  pleasant  stones." 

"Non  ignarus  mali,  miserissuccurrere  disco." 
Not  ignorant  of  evil, I  learn  to  succor  the  miserable. 
"Light  are  the  pains  that  nature  brings ; 
.  .       How  short  our  sorrows  are. 

When  with  eternal  future  things 
'  The  present  we  compare." 

"Wherefore  let  them  that  suffer  according  to  the  will  of  God,commit  the  keep- 
ing of  their  souls  to  him  in  well  doing,  as  unto  a  faithful  Creaf  or." 
The' right  whereof  he  claims  as  author,  ir  conformity  with  an  act  of  Congress 
entitled,  "An  act  tc  amend  the  several  acts  respecting  copy  rights." 
Attest, 

WILLIAM  MINER, 

Clerk  cf  the  District. 

It  is  the  design  of  the  author  (should  his  work  be  acceptable)  to  travel  through- 
out the  United  States,  foi  the  purpose  of  disposing  of  it. 


This  little  book  inmost  humbly,  most  sincerely, 
and  most  devoutly  dedicated  to  the  Care,  Protec- 
tion and  Patronage  of  the  "God  of  all  comfort,"  in 
behalf,  and  for  the  use  and  benefit  of  all  the  afflic- 
ted of  my  nation,  the  United  States  of  America— 
by  the  Author. 

May  God  in  whom  I  "live,  and  move,  and  have 
my  being,"  enable  me  ever  to  "live  and  move," 
yea,  and  to  die  v/orthy  of— even  the  sentiments  of 
this  book.  F,  ,\.  K, 


CONTENTS. 

ist.  For  a  patient  seized  with  violent  illness,  and  manitest- 
}y  threatened  witii  death. 

2nd.  For  a  chronic  patient. 

To  the  view  of  the  first  of  lhe«e,  standing  over  his  bed  side, 
I  attempt  briefly  to  bring  up  all  th6  subslantial  consolations 
that  creation,  providence  and  religion  furnish  to  the  human 
mind.  To  the  second,  I  bring  up  the  same  in  a  far  more  en- 
larged manner. 

3d.  For  the  young  in  affliction. 

Here  I  attend  to  the  peculiarity  of  their  case  as  youthful 
sutlerers. — And,  in  like  manner,  to  the  peculiaritiesof  the  ca- 
ses of  all  that  follow. 

4th.  For  the  poor  inaffliction. 

5th.  For  the  vicious  in  affliction. 

6th,  For  parents  in  affliction. 

7th.  For  the  rich  in  affliction. 

8th.  For  the  stranger  in  affliction. 

Dth.  For  the  aged  in  affliction. 

10th.  For  those  afflicted  with  the  afflictions  of  others. 

The  11th  and  last,  is  a  long  article— For  the  melancholy. 


PREFACE, 


THE  sick  and  afflicted  have  always  been,  are  bow,  an3 
ijiohi  ikely  will  continue  to  be,  a  very  large  class  of  the  hu- 
man family.  The  loneliness,  unfileasaniness,  pain  and  wretch- 
ness  of  a  sick  person,  confined  to  his  room,  or  even  of  an  afflict- 
ed person  that  is  not  entirely  thus  confined,  are  exceedir.gly 
great,  and  known  only  to  those  who  are  in  this  condition,  or 
wh  >  have  passed  through  such  a  scene. 

This  unhappy  class  of  our  race,  as  is  right,  have  always  re- 
oeived  a  large  share  of  the  svmpaihies,  kind  offices  and  labo' 
riotjs  efforts  of  others.  To  them,  another  class,  the  doctors, 
are  devoted  They  serve  them  |»ar(icularly,  as  it  respects 
medicine,  prescriptions,  &c.  f  r  the  restoration  of  their  bodies, 
and  do  not  entirely  neglect  their  minds,  but  someiimos  drop  an 
enio'iragiiig  word  by  way  of  niedrine  for  their  drooping  spirits. 

This  they  cannot  do  at  length,  because,  by  their  practice  they 
make  their  living,  and  cann"t  delay,  but  must  pass  on  from  one 
to  another.  Indeed,  they  are  not  the  most  suitable  persons  to 
undertake  it,  from  the  fact,  that  by  constantly  witnessing  the 
sutf  ;rings  of  others,  their  sympathies  iecome  blunted  and  har- 
de;ied;  and  also,  many  of  them  are  otherwise  not  qualified  in  a 
moral  point  of  view. 

Physicians  universally  admit  the  great  and  commanding  in- 
fiuence  of  the  mind  over  the  body  in  sickness.  They  hair^ 
written  volumes  almost  innumerable  on  medical  science.-— 
Nearly  all  the  contents  of  these  volumes  are  devoted  to  the  body, 
s me  small  parts  to  the  mind. 

1  have  neihe.r  seen  n'»r  heard  of  more  than  one  book  in  the 
E  ig'ish  language,  expresaly  written  for  the  minde  of  the  s.ick 
and  afflicted.  This  one  was  written  one  hundr  d  and  three 
years  ago,  in  S^.'itland.  My  work  wj's  about  hulf  accompiish- 
ed,  before  1  knew  of  its  existence.    1  immediately  detenniaed 


Vi.  i'BErAbJki. 

not  to  seek  fer  it,  nor  read  it,  until  I  had  finished  my  ©woj 
which  I  did  not.  The  plans  of  the  tv/o  are  as  different  as  they 
can  be.  In  the  gieat  cause  of  instructing,  sympathizing  with, 
and  encouraging  the  afflicted,  it  will  be  impossible  for  their  in- 
terference with  one  another  to  be  any  other  than  happy.  The 
author  of  the  old  one  says  nothing  about  his  having  been 
afflicted  himself,  previous  to  his.  writing  for  the  afflicted. 

In  this  I  have  the  advantage  of  him.  As  is  mentioned  in  the 
beginning  of  my  v/ork,  I  had  been  afflicted  nearly  five  years 
before  I  commenced  it.  At  the  time  of  my  commencing,  I 
was  just  rising,  and  that  very  slowly,  from  a  violent,  and 
threatening,  and  lasting  attack  of  my  diseases;  by  which  I  was 
brought  very  low,  and  kept  so  for  a  length  of  time,  so  that  I 
looked  death  in  the  face,  as  near  at  handj  and  hung  on  to  life  by 
a.  truly  brittle  thread.  Being  a  little  restored,  1  succeeded  in 
my  attempts  to  walk,  with  feeble  steps,  out  on  to  the  south 
porch  of  the  house  where  I  lived,  on  one  of  (jur  finest  days  of 
February,  1828,  with  a  design  of  getting  another  view  of  crea- 
tion, particularly  to  see  the  sun,  the  "king  of  day,'-  which  hap- 
pened at  that  time  to  be  shining  in  all  his  splendor. 

While  there  seated,  and  feeling  his  cheering  rays,  and  behold- 
ing the  heavens  and  the  earth,  and  being  thereby  a  little  reviv- 
ed and  consoled,  a  thought  came  into  my  mind,  that  it  would 
be  well  for  me  in  my  afflicted  and  disconsolate  erudition,  to 
turn  my  attention,  whenever  I  had  strength  enough^  to  all  the 
consolatory  things,  and  thoughts,  and  considerations,  which  I 
could  find  in  the  universe,  in  order  to  console  my  mind.  A 
second  thought  arose,  that  it  would  be  well,  as  I  found  them, 
to  write  them  down,  that  I  might  use  them  in  time  to  come.  A 
third  thought  followed,  that  it  would  also  be  well  to  take  some 
©are  and  observe  some  order  in  writing  them  down,  so  that  I 
might  show  them  to  others  who  might  be  afflicted-  The  fourth 
and  last  in  the  train  was,  that  it  was  possible  (as  I  had  spent 
many  years  and  much  labor  in  getting  an  education)  for  me 
to  make  the  writing  worthy  of  the  public  eye;  and  thus  more 
extensively  to  do  good  to  mankind  and  my«elf,  not  only  as  it 
respected  the  consoling  of  my  mind,  but  the  procuring  of  a 
tiving  for  my  body. 

For  a  length  of  time  I  most  seriously  considered  the  matter, 
and  the  more  1  considered  it,  the  more  clearly  it  appeared  to  be 
my  duty  to  undertake  it.  In  short,  I  felt  myself  to  be  shut  up 
to  it,  by  Providence:  and  eternity  will  be  too  short  for  me  Xjb 
express  all  the  gratitude  I  feel  to  God,  for  enabling  me,  under  my 
extreme  weakness  and  great  sufferings,  to  accomplish  my  under- 
Haking.     I   mean  what  I  say,  and  much  more  than  1  can  say. 


PHEFACE.  Vll. 

The  whole  is  a  personal,  practical  a^ldress.  The  writer  (with 
one  exception)  is  the  speaker,  standing  over  the  bed  side,  or  in 
the  presence  of  the  patient.  In  every  case  the  patient  is  fully 
described.  In  the  first  case  till  his  life  is  despaired  of,  and  then 
he  is  addressed  at  length  concerning  death,  to  prepare  his  mind 
for  it  and  reconcile  him  to  it.  All  absurd  notions  about  deatb 
are  beaten  from  about  him.  He  is  told  what  not  to  expect,  and 
what  to  expect;  and  much  light  is  thrown  on  the  subject.  The 
chronic  patient  dies,  and  his  death  is  described.  My  aim  was 
to  have  the  language  and  style  of  the  whole,  plain,  easy,  fami- 
liar and  affectionate.  The  article  for  the  melancholy  may  he 
an  exception;  because  necessity  compelled  me  to  describe  their 
disease  by  many  of  the  technical  terms  of  medical  science. — 
This  may  be  admissible  from  the  fact,  that  melancholy  is  gen»- 
erally  a  characteristic  of  mental  greatness.  Such  are  stiJiJious 
and  learned,  and  can  easily  understand  what  I  have  written. 
I  entertain  an  humble  hope,  that  it  will  be  extensively  useful 
io  them. 

Sh  )uld  my  work  prove  to  be  worthy  of  public  attention,  the 
following  may  be  some  reasons  why  all  classes,  sick  or  well^ 
should  purchase  it. 

It  is  written  for  all.  The  sick  need  it.  The  well  are  liable 
to  be  sick.  All  must  die  It  tells  how  to  die,  according  to 
all  and  the  best  information  possessed  by  man.  The  afflicted 
do  not  receive  all  that  tender  sympathy  which  they  desen^e, 
from  those  who  bloom  in  health.  This  book  may  have  a  ten- 
dency to  touch  the  sympathies  of  the  healthy,  and  soften  their 
hearts  towards  the  afflicted.  A  person  in  health  having  a  copy, 
may  lend  it  to  his  fr.end  or  neighbor  who  may  be  afflicted.  The 
rich  ought  to  purch  ise,  by  way  of  benevolence,  so  as  to  bear 
the  burden  of  the  expense,  and  to  have  it  to  give  to  the  afflicted, 
a  large  part  of  whom  are  poor. 

Many  who  are  now  in  health  have  been  sick,  and  then  deep- 
ly felt  the  want  of  such  a  work—let  them  now  purchase  against 
the  time  of  coining  sickness  and  death.  We  live  in  the  *'New 
World."  Our  settlements  are  scattered,  and  many  of  them 
found  to  be  sickly.  Hundreds  of  our  fellow-citizens  have  been 
sick,  and  hundreds  have  died  in  our  lonely  deserts,  none  being 
there  to  speak  unto  their  troubled  spirits  such  words  of  conso- 
lation as  are  contained  in  this  little  volume.  As  they  go  out 
from  us  then,  let  them  purchase  it  and  take  it  with  them. — 
Indeed,  here,  in  the  midst  of  our  thickest  population,  multitudes 
are  sick,  and  die  around  us,  unvisited  and  unconsoled  by  any 
competent  and  suitable  persons,  the  clergy  themselves  not 
being  ^ble  to  find  time  to  visit  ihem.     When  neither  they  nei- 


Vlll.  PREFACE. 

any  other  suitable  friends  can  go  to  see  them,  miijht  they  not 
pecommend  the  readino;  of  this  little  book  in  their  hearing. 

O.ir  community  cheerfully  sustains  a  great  number  of  poli- 
tical, and  a  few  christian  newspapers;  besides  several  literary, 
medical, and  theological  periodicals  and  reviews.  Can  it  be  too 
mufh,  modestly  to  ask  a  small  part  of  the  attention  of  the  pub- 
lic to  a  work  for  the  afflicted?  To  the  writer  there  appeared  to 
be  a  chasm,  a  want  of  such  a  work.  Whether  he  has  produced 
ene  calculated  to  fill  the  chasm  or  not,  he  does  not  presume  to 
decide.  I  have  already  submitted  it  to  the  criticism  of  an  an;ed, 
worthy  and  able  man,  long  well  known  here.  He  thinks  it  will 
be  useful  to  society  Nevertheless,  I  am  well  aware  that  the 
final  and  decisive  test,  is  public  opinion.  And  therefore,  1  most 
humbly,  and,  at  the  same  time,  most  earnestly,  ask  a  small 
share  of  public  patronage,  that  it  may  be  brought  fully  and 
fairly  before  this  great  and  ultimate  test. 

So  prays  the  public's  most  humble  and  most  devoted  servant^. 
and  warm  friend  to  man,  and  most  of  all,  to  man  in  affliction. 

The  Author. 


OOKSOZiATZONS 


OF   THB 


AFFLICTED. 


This  world,  might,  with  great  propriety,  be  called,  a  world  of- 
affliction. 

Swch  is  the  miserable  condition  of  man,  that  if  we  should 
say,  all  men  are  afflicted,  wc  would  speaCk  the  truth.  It  is  not 
common,  however,  to  use  the  word  in  this  unlimited  sense. — 
Other  words  are  used  to  express  the  generally  wretched  state 
of  mankind.  When  we  speak  of  the  afflicted,  we  mean  that 
large  class  of  the  human  family  which  labours  under  some  men- 
tal or  bodily  calamity,  from  which  others  are  exempt.  Neither 
is  it  common  to  call  every  slight  calamity  or  disease,  which  lasts 
but  a  bhort  time,  an  affliction.  It  is  not  usual  to  call  even 
severe  diseases  afflictions,  if  they  terminate  soon,  either  by  re- 
storation to  health  or  death.  1  shall,  however,  apply  the  term 
to  this  latter  description,  as  I  proceed.  In  its  common  accep- 
tation, it  is  applied  to  those  who  are  deranged  in  their  minds, 
and  continue  so ;  or  to  those  who  are  very  much  diseased  in 
their  bodi  'S,  and  linger  for  a  length  of  time.  Such  are  said 
to  be  afflicted. 

Insanity  is  generally  thought  to  be  the  greatest  temporal 
affliction,  t)  which  man  is  subject.  It  is  almost  useless  to  talk 
to  crazy  persons  with  a  view  tu  comforr  them.  It  must  there- 
fore, be  entireiv  useless  to  attempt  to  write  any  thing  for  their 
consolation.  The  following  hints  and  remarks  are  designed 
mainly,  for  the  consolation  of  those*  who  may  be  severely 
afflicted  in  their  bodies;  and  for  those  who  may  linger  long  under 
aiiliction.  1  have  myself,  thus  lingered  for  nearly  five  year  . 
'  1* 


19  CJUNSdLATIONS  Of 

Puring  this  time,  (as  you  would  naturally  suppose,)  my  minft 
has  l>een  continually  f-eeking  consolati<.u;  and  I  am  happy  in 
telling  you,  my  dear  feiiow  sufferers,  that  it  has  not  sought 
in  vain. 

In  every  stage  of  my  diseases,  notwithstanding  the  severity 
©fm)'  sutt^nxigs,  1  have  been  enabled  to   receive  more  or  less 
cons^  lation  from  one  source  or  aii«>ther      By  ihis  you  are  not  to 
underslaud,  that  my  income  of  consolation  hf  s  been  so  great  as 
toovercon-e  and  banish  trouble  and  pnin;  but,  only  to  sooth  and 
niitigate  these  in  stjme  measure.     For  two  or  three  \ears  past, 
my  afihctions  have  been  greatly  increased,  through  the  want  of 
suiiabie  employment.     I  huve  had  but  one  serious  time  of  con- 
fiiiernent  to  bed.   .  JExcepting  ihai,  1  have  not  been  entirely  inca- 
patio  -.A'  some  business.     But  to  find  such  us  1  could  do,  which 
promib.-d  usofi.iness  to  myself  and  others,   has  been   very  diffi- 
cult.    A  fe  A  days  ago,  a  thought  came  into  my  mind,  (as  I  have 
said  ill  my  preface,)  that  it  might,  peihaps,  be  useful  tb  myself 
and  others  who  are  Lfflicted,  to  coi  tect  together,  and  write  dowa 
some  of  those  things  which  are  calculated  to  console  the  afflict- 
ed.    Becajse  1  am  afflicted  myself,  J   have  ai  least  one  of  the 
hest  qualifications  to  write  for  the  attlirted.     Whether  I  have 
any  more  or  not,  others  must  judge.     In  speaking  to  them,  it 
Tviii  be  in  my   power  to  speak  from  experience,  seeing  1  have 
'*felt  the  same."     It  is  my  wish  to  make  this  little  work  as  gen- 
erally usef  1  as  possible.     I  design,  theretbie,  to  address  those 
of  several  classes  of  mankind  v.'homay  be  in  affliciion. 

The  christian  comm jnity  myy  be  said  to  form  one  class. — 
I  shall  commence  by  addressing  Christiaos  who  may  be  in 
afiliclion;  aad  shall  proceed  to  some  length  in  endeavouring  t« 
aid  their  meditation,  and  present  to  their  view  consoling  thoughts 
and  coi'sideratioiis. 

My  Companions  in  affliction,  with  a  feeling  heart— with  the 
tenderest  seusil^iiities  and  sympathies,  J  would  converse  with 
yon,  freely  and  familiarly  about  the  troubles  that  are  upon  you. 
Once  you  were  ia  health,  perhaps  as  contented  and  happy  as  it 
is  common  for  persons  to  be  in  this  world ;  but  now  disease  comes 
up.  n  you  with  pnius  and  sf»rrows.  Immediately,  y^ou  endeavour 
to  obtain  relief  for  your  body,  and  your  mind  seeks  for  comf  irt 
and  enco^iragement.  There  are  only  two  great  general  sour- 
ces from  whi.  h  these  can  be  obtained — this  v.orid  and  ihe  next. 
You  may  obtain  them  more  or  less  from  the  things  and  beings 
which  surrotmd  you,- or  from  the  next  world,  through  the  great 
charnel  of  faith. 

1  shall  first  speak  of  the  assistance  and  consolation  whick 
you  may  expect  from  this  world,  then  of  the  next.  My  address 
shall  be  personal. 


THE  AFFLieTEi>.  1 T 

1.  For  a  Patient  seized  with  violent  illness,  and  Tnanifestly 
threatened  with  death. 

Mi:  Affi^icted  I^'riend: — Four  disease  is  sudden  and  vio- 
lent, and  aiafiiiing;  you  may  need  consolatioii  in  this  world 
only  tor  a  tew  days  or  weeks.  Be  that  as  it  may,  your  first 
thought  IS  to  send  for  the  doctor.  From  him  you  hope  for 
help  and  consolation.  Happy  is  it  ior  us,  my  friend,  thai  thjre 
are  such  characters  to  whom  we  may  send  in  the  hour  of  flis- 
tress,  in  the  day  of  calamity.  When  they  are  men  of  i.  ibr- 
matiun,  skill  and  candor,  they  know  to  a  considerable  extent 
the  naiure  of  diseases  and  the  effects  of  medirme;  and  are  in- 
deed a  great  source  of  consolation  to  the  atiiicted. 

Accordingly  you  send  for  one.  The  messenger  goes  in  haste 
— linds  hnn,— returns  and  reports  that  he  will  be  with  you  in  a 
short  time.  This  causes  a  glow  of  hope  in  your  breast.  As 
sjon  as  he  arrives  he  enters  your  room  with  a  pleasant  smiie. — 
Your  hope  rises  still  higher.  But  my  friend,  1  cannot  forbear 
to  tell  you  not  to  sufifer  it  to  rise  too  high,  lest  in  a  short  time 
the  Slings  of  disappointment  be  added  to  your  distresses,  an4 
your  case  be  thereby  made  worse. 

The  wisest  may  err,  and  the  best  of  doctors  often  do.  Be- 
sides, your  disease  may  be  too  violent  for  any  remedy.  Howev- 
er, he  examines  your  c;  se.  Perhaps  bleeds  you,  and  gives  you 
povverfui  medicine.  Then  particularly  states  his  directions  for 
you, — charges  your  nurse — encourages  yv.u  to  bear  up — promi- 
ses to  come  again — bids  you  farewell,  and  leaves  you. 

Your  eyes  aie  next  turned  to  your  nurse.  If  you  have  a 
skiltul  and  faith  fa  1  Iriend  for  a  nurse,  you  may  reasonably  ex- 
pect as  much  coj-^olation  from  such  a  one  as  from  your  physi- 
cian. A  nurse  should  understand  cookery ;  therefore,  femalee 
are  the  best.  .  They  are  aiso  m'>re  tender  and  faithful.  If  she 
is  your  relation^ — yotir  sisrer,  }0ur  mother,  or  your  wife;  we  re- 
peat ic,  you  may  expect  as  much  consolation  from  her  as  from 
any  other  etirthiy  thing  or  being,  it  she  possesses  knowledge 
and  experience,  ana  especially,  if  she  is  a  well  informed  good 
ehrisujui,  &he  may  indeed  ^eem  to  you  to  be — *'a  guardian 
angel." 

Tiie  invariable  maxim  and  practice  of  doctors  is — **  first 
make  si(  k  to  make  well."  Your  meaicine  added  to  your  dis- 
Quse  makes  y  jh,  from  time  to  time  very  sick.  Your  pains  and 
sorrows  incre.jse.  You  can  trke  but  iittle  fjod,  and  ii  is  not 
pleasant.  You  cannot  sleep.  Your  nights  are  long,  and  dreary, 
and  cheerless.  Y)U  are  restle.  s;  yoi^  *'toss  from  side  to  side," 
and  youi  thoughts  are  continually  on  t  le  wing,  seeking  crso- 
lation.     ITou  look  beyond  your  pny&ician,and  nurse  and  friends. 


13  CONSOLATIONS    OF 

You  think  of  the  busy  scenes  of  life  in  which  formerly  you  boje 
a  part.  You  hope  to  recover  and  go  about,  or  go  out  and  bear 
your  part  again.  You  think  the  day  may  come,  when  you  will 
be  able  to  walk  out  doors  and  see  the  world  again.  Behold  the 
sun,  moon,  and  stars— the  green  and  flourishing,  and  delightful 
vegetation,  and  all  the  animal  creation,  with  man  at  their  head. 
That  you  will  again  see,  as  well  as  hear,  the  lowing;  herds — the 
bleating  flocks — the  skipping  lambs — the  sportive  dog  and  horse, 
and  all  the  sons  of  men,  actively  stirring  this  way  and  that, 
to  put  forward  their  business,  and  gain  a  supply  of  food  and 
raiment.  You  do  well  to  indulge  in  such  thoughts;  they  will 
sooth  your  pains,  beguile  your  sorrows,  and  afford  you  some 
consolation  even  in  the  darkest  hours. 

But  a  week  or  two  are  now  elapsed,  and  you  get  worse  and 
worse;  notwithstanding  your  physician,  and  nurse,  and  friends, 
have  been  exceedingly  attentive  and  faithful.  You  are  now 
reduced  and  weak — you  feel  weighed  down  and  oppressed.  It 
is  night,  and  you  long  for  morning.  The  day  dawns,  and  you 
are  rejoiced  to  see  the  light.  Your  vigilant,  and  faithul,  and 
kind  nurse  approaches  your  bed-side,  and  mildly  asks  you  how 
you  feel.  Perhaps  you  reply,  *'a  little  better  since  day  light.^' 
She  washes  your  hands  and  face,  and  combs  your  hair,  with  all 
the  kindness,  and  gentleness,  of  a  mother  with  her  infant. — 
Gives  you  drink.  Then  in  haste,  prepares  you  sc^ne  mild  and 
suitable  food,  which  you  think  you  can  best  take.  You  eat  a 
little : — after  that,  some  kind  friends  come  in,  and  express  their 
sympathies  for  you.  They  talk  mildly  and  affectionately  to  you. 
Tell  you  what  is  going  on.  Perhaps  are  able  to  say,  that  some 
©ne  is  attending  to  vour  own  business,  and  it  is  doing  well. — 
They  tell  you  all  the  news,  and  every  thing  that  is  encourag- 
ing. If  they  are  wise  they  will  not  crowd  your  room,  nor  talk 
too  long  with  you,  lest  you  be  overcome,  and  their  visit  do  you 
snore  harm  than  good.  You  feel  cheered  and  animated  by  their 
presence  and  convt-rsation.  They  seem  so  friendly,  and  men- 
tion so  many  encouraging  circumstanres  that  your  pains  are 
lulled  in  a  good  dej^rree,  and  hape  revives  and  brightens  in  your 
breast.  Indue  time,  ihey  pleasantly  bid  you  good  morning, 
and  leave  you  to  meditate  upon  the  things  which  they  have 
brought  to  your  view.  You  do  so.  You  feel  obliged  to  them. 
You  ''hank  God,  a.;d  take  courage.'"  AfttT  your  thoughts  have 
run  their  round.  |»eih«ipy  you  feel  composed,  and  fall  asleep  for 
a  short  time.  When  vcunwake,  you  see  your  phvsician  in  the 
room.  He  speaks  •  h.  e  ful  y  and  lively  to  yon.  You  feel  still 
more  ref  eshed.  He  encour-ges  you  to  hope  for  the  best — in- 
<|uiies  aller  your  condition — charges  you  to  be  patient,  and  calm 


THE     AFFLICTED.  i  :- 

as  possible-tells  yoa  that  by  impatience  you  would  lose  st-engih^ 
and  increase  the  disease.  He  mentions  the  things  that  are  fa- 
vourable, seriously  enjoins  it  upon  you,  not  to  let  your  thoughts 
pour  over  your  disease,  but  to  think  of  other  things — then 
retires.  ^ 

In  your  hardest  times,  this  last  charge  will. seem  to  you  very 
much  like  telling  a  dying  man  not  to  die.  Ii  is  altogether  cor- 
rect, however.  The  more  you  think  about  your  disease,  the 
more  you  will  encourage  it.  You  should  think  more  of  the 
remedy,  and  of  being  well.  It  is  your  duty  to  strive  to  preserve 
and  prolong  your  life.  Accordingly,  you  endeavour  to  obey 
his  injunction,  difficult  as  it  may  be.  The  most  active  thing 
about  a  sick  person,  is  his  thoughts.  There  is  but  little  he  can 
do,  except  think.  His  thoughts  flv  like  the  ''wings  of  the  morn- 
ing." They  may  almost  be  said  to  be  m  all  places,  and  about 
every  thing  that  he  has  ever  seen  or  heard  of,  and  innumerable 
things  thit  he  has  not.  You  are  now  left  to  youi-self,  and  you 
indulge  in  thinking,  and  you  are  so  much  better  that  it  is  not 
difficult  to  think  about  pleasant  things.  Accordingly,  you  now 
imagine  to  yourself,  that  you  will  yet  see  many  good  days 
npon  the  earth — that  you  will  yet  live  to  serve  God  and  your 
generation,  a  length  of  time  before  you  go  hence.  You  think 
you  will  be  able  again  to  eat  heartily,  and  enjoy  your  food- 
visit  your  friends  and  converse  freely  and  sociably  with  them — 
behold  with  your  eyes,  (being  out  of  your  room,)  the  great  and 
stupendous  changes  of  day  and  night,  and  of  spring,  summer, 
autumn  and  wmter,  with  the  grateful  and  pleasing  appearance  ?^ 
and  peculiarities  of  each,  as  the  wheels  of  time  roll  them  round. 
You  indulge  a  hope,  that  after  a  few  weeks,  or  months,  you  will 
again  be  active  and  pursue  and  accomplish  your  plans  and 
schemes  of  life.  In  short,  that  you  will  again  be  well,  and 
enjoy  life.  Such  thoughts  are  lawful  and  right,  and  they  bring 
in  both  strength  and  consolation. 

Neither  is  there  any  necessity  for  them  to  interfere  with,  of 
supercede  thoughis  about  death  and  eternity.  Every  person, 
sick  or  well,  that  is  old  enough  to  think  of  these,  should  think 
of  them,  and  feel  ready  to  die  at  a  moment's  warning.  Under 
all  circumstances  life  is  perfectly  uncertain. 

You  are  now  getting  along  tolerably  well.  The  sun  sets  and 
it  grows  dark  in  your  room — preparation  is  made  to  let  you  try 
to  sleep.  You  are  enabled  to  sleep  a  good  part  of  the  night. — 
Next  day  still  a  little  better.  You  and  all  friends  and  even  the 
doctor  feel  m  hopes  that  your  disease  is  o^'ercome.and  will  go  oil. 

This,  however,  does  not  prove  to  be  tha  fact.  In  a  day  or  two 
more,  it  begins  to  rise  again.     This  inevitably  brings  a  gloom 


14  CO?7SOLATION3   ol 

iJver  your  min'l.  You  remeinSer  the  charge  of  the  doctor  not 
to  pour  over  \  our  disease,  and  your  wretched  condition.  The  old 
saying — "that  misery  loves  company,"  is  true.  If  you  were 
the  only  person  th.it  you  had  ever  seen  or  heard  of,  that  was 
miserable,  you  would  directly  fall  into  despair,  and  give  up. 

But  this  is  not  the  fact: — thi  whole  worl;!  is  miserable. — • 
Your  own  eyes  have  seen  it,  from  year  to  year.  You  have  often 
seen  the  sick  and  afflicted.  There  is  a  certain  text  of  scripture, 
which  says  — "but  they  measuring  themselves  by  themselves, 
and  comparing  themselves  among  themselves,  are  not  wise  " — 
That  is,  when  they  do  it  to  draw  the  conclusion,  that  they  are 
better  than  others,  and  on  that  ground  to  boast. 

This  text  is  not  applicable  to  your  present  case.  You  will 
not  be  unwise  to  compare  yourself  with  all  the  sick  and^afflict* 
ed  that  you  have  seen,  or  have  any  knowledge  of.  Accord inpfly, 
ycu  do  so.  You  think  of  all  the  calamities  and  complaints, 
that,  during  your  whole  life,  you  have  beheld  preying  upon  your 
unhappy  and  disconsolate  fellow  creatures  All  kinds  of  burn- 
ing fevers — rheumatic  pains — pleurisies — cholic — dysentery — 
white-swellings — broken  bones— convulsive  fiis — dropsies- -li- 
ver complaints — consumptions — palsies — the  small- pox,  and 
every  disease  which  takes. life. 

Especially,  you  think,  of  all  those  who  have  had  the  same 
disease  which  you  nov/  ha-ve,  and  got  over  it,  and  become  well 
and  hearty.  You  are  able  to  recollect  a  great  many  that  you 
have  looked  upon  with  your  own  eyes,  on  the  bed  of  languish- 
ment  and   affliction — oroaning  under  the  same  disease  which 

Do 

distresses  you.  You  compare  yourself  with  them,  and  remem- 
ber that  many  of  them,  a  great  many,  were  worse,  much  worse, 
than  you  are,  and  yet  got  well.  Your  kind  nurse  is  able  to  assist 
you  in  these  thoughts,  and  tells  you  of  a  large  number  wh  »m 
she  has  seen  that  were  as  bad  in  the  same  disease,  and  a  great 
deal  worse,  and  for  a  much  longer  time,  yet  got  well.  She 
smiles,  and  speaks  with  a  tone  of  firmness  and  encouragement^ 
and  assures  you  that  there  is  much  ground  to  hope.  She  says 
to  you,  "do  not  despond — bear  up — bear  up — hope  for  the  best — 
we  are  doing  all  we  can,  and  shall  not  desert  you  a  moment." 

You  think  of  the  sick  persons  she  mentions,  and  let  your 
thoughts  run  on  at  length  in  comparing  yourself  among  them. 
You  look  aroimd  upon  them  and  see  them  now  m  good  health, 
going  about,  and  mdustriously,  and  cheerfully  attending  to  their 
business,  though  they  had  lain  many  weeks  longer  than  you 
have  upon  the  bed  of  affliction,  with  the  very  same  disease, 
and  were  much  weaker.  You  fancy  that  you  may  do  so  too, 
•some  weeks  hence.     On  this  suLjcct,  your  physician  speaks  to 


you.  He  is  canaid.  He  says— "well,  my  patient,  we  arc  sorry 
to  see  you  so  bad — your  disease  is  truly  quite  severe,  but  I  have 
seen  hundreds  worse  with  the  same  disorder,  all  of  whom  reco- 
vered. YoLi  musi  keep  good  courage. — This  disease  is  your 
enemy.  O.ie  of  the  most  powerful  things  which  you  have  to 
oppose  it,  is  a  bold  spirit.  Brace  np,  determine  to  conquer,  and 
we  think  you  will  d«  it — at  least  you  will  stand  as  good  a  chance 
as  <  tlieri-'  have."     He  then  retires. 

Take  notir-e!  I  v.m  speaking  of  the  consolations  which  this 
world  affords  the  afflicted  and  discor.solate.  You  are  a  christian 
—  you  have  long  read,  and  studied  the  scriptures.  Though 
they  originated  in  the  invisible  world,  yet  they  are  the  property 
of  men.  It  has  pleased  God  to  make  them  a  part  of  this  world. 
He  had  them  written  for  two  great  purposes — to  instruct  and 
Gonsole  men  as  long  as  they  live  upon  the  earth,  and  to  open  to 
their  prospect  a  happy  world  to  come. 

Yuu  have  f  )r  a  length  of  lime,  looked  to  them  for  instruction 
and  consolatiim;  but  now  in  this  hour  of  trial,  your  attention  is 
mure  specially  directed  to  them. 

They  contain  many  commandments,  statutes  and  ordinances 
for  instruction,  and  abound  wilh  examples  of  affliction  and  pro- 
mises for  consolation.  You  have  been  comparing  yourself 
with  all  the  afflicted,  that  have  been  within  the  range  of  your 
observation  and  knowledge  In  doing  this,  ^ou  have  been  very 
careful  to  think  of  all  yuur  fellow  christians,  whom  you  have 
seen  in  ufflicticn.  And  you  triad  to  remember,  very  particular- 
ly, how  it  went  with  them — how  severely,  and  how  long  they 
were  aftiicied,  and  in  what  manner  they  seemed  to  bear  it — how 
they  seemed  to  feel  and  express  themselves,  and  act.  In  this 
comparison,  you  recollected  a  large  number  of  eminent  chris- 
tians, in  your  day,  who  had  been  grievously  afflicted.  In- 
deed, you  were  able  to  remember,  very  few,  if  any,  that  had  not 
And  thus  you  saw  plainly  verified,  what  the  scriptures  fully 
teach,  that  it  is  an  established  and  invariable  law  of  God,  in 
executing  the  plan  of  ^ilvation,  that  his  people,  the  redeemed, 
should  be  specially  afflicted  and  tried — thar,  '-out  of  great  tribu- 
lation" they  should  enter  heaven.  When  you  consider  your 
own  character  in  comparison  with  all  other  men  and  christians, 
you  can  see  no  good  reason  why  }  ou  should  be  exempt  from 
atliictiun,any  more  than  those  around  you.  Especially,  when 
you  feel  yourself  altogether  inferior  to  them.  But  as  a  christian, 
you  compare  yourself  not  only  wirh  modern  christians,  but 
with  all  you  have  read  or  heard  of  froni  the  days  of  Christ  dowfi 
to  your  own  day.  Your  mind  dwells  for  a  length  of  time,  in 
thikking  of  all  the  faithful  and  true  martyrs  who  have  in  diflfefr 


36  GONS0LATION3   €>F 

ent  ages  been  hunted  and  persecuted  during  their  lives,  and 
closed  theni  by  being  beheaded,  or  torn  in  pieces  by  wild  beasts, 
or  burnt  to  death  '-for  the  witness  of  Jesus  and  for  the  word  of 
God."  This  comparison  is  truly  consoling  to  you.  If  their 
severe  and  uncommon  sufferings  and  trials,  and  violent  death, 
was  no  evidence  that  they  were  not  the  children  of  God,  but  on 
the  contrary,  whs  good  evidence  that  they  really  were,  you  are 
ooiufarted  with  the  thought  that  you  too,  may  be. 

la  thi««,  you  are  supported  and  confirmed,  by  remembering  the 
invariable  law — that,  "whom  the  Lord  loveih,  he  chasteneth, 
an  1  scourgeth  every  son  whom  he  receiveth  " 

You  are  far  from  stopping  here,  however;  you  turn  your 
thoughts  to  aliother,  and  higher  class  of  men,  who  in  their  day, 
gr'>aiied  under  aifliction  You  thmkof  all  the  afflicted  servants 
of  God,  mentioned  in  the  Bible,  from  righteous  Abel,  \Nho  died 
a  sudden  and  violent  death  by  the  hands  of  a  brother,  down  to 
the  beloved  Juhn,  who  was  banished  to  the  isle  of  Fatmos,  ''for 
the  word  of  God,  and  for  the  testimony  of  Jesus  Christ."  — 
Weil,  yoa  remeinber  the  history  which  you  have  so  often  read 
of  all  the  faithful  patriarchs,  prophets,  ap  sties  and  saints,  who 
were  s^^verely  aiflicted  and  tried — who  were  eminent  in -degree, 
according  to  the  degree  of  their  aiiiicti'Mi. 

*'Th8  time  of  affliciion  is'usuall^  God's  gracious  trying  sea- 
son with  his  people,  in  the  time  of  their  rajest  comforts  and 
sweetest  toretastes  of  heaven,  according  to  2  Cor.  1 .  5.  Paul 
anu  Silas  did  never  sing  more  joyfully  than  when  they  were  laid 
in  :he  inner  prison,  v  ith  iheir  backs  torn  wi'h  scourges,  and 
thoir  feet  fast  in  the  stocks.  Acts,  1 6,  24.  And  when  was  it  that 
J;icob  saw  the  angels  of  God  ascending  and  des(tending  upon 
the  ladder  that  reached  betwixt  heaven  and  earth,  but  at  the  time 
wheu  he  was  in  a  destitute  case,  forced  to  lie  in  the  open  tieid, 
bavmg  no  canopy  but  the  heavens,  and  no  pillow  but  a  stone?— 
When  was  it  that  the  three  children  saw  Christ  in  the  likeness 
of  tiie  Sju  of  Min,  walking  with  them,  bui  when  thov  were  in 
the  furnace,  and  when  it  was  hotter  tha*!  ordinarv  ?  When  was 
it  that  Ezckiel  had  a  vision  of  (liod,  but  when  sit-iiig  solitary  by 
the  river  Chebar  in  the  land  oi  his  captivity  ?  When  was  ii  that 
Juhn  got  a  glorious  vision  of  Christ,  but  who.i  he  was  an  exile 
in  the  isle  of  Patmos?  And,  when  was  it  thai  Stephen  saw  the 
heavens  opened,  and  Christ  standing  at  the  right  hand  of  G.>d 
pleading f^r  him,  but  when  they  weic  stoning  and  braisinii  him 
to  death?  So  that  the  most  remarkable  experiences  of  G  >d^s 
kindness,  that  believers  gel  in  this  world,  have  been  traced  to  the 
time  of  affliction:  the  consiileraaon  vvht^re  f  sh  'uid  move  every 
christian  to  wait  oa  the  Lord,  and  bear  hia  cross  with  patience."' 


'^Hi<   AFFLICTEP.  ^^* 

"I  observe  that  plants  and  herbs  are  sometimes  killed  by 
frosts  and  vet  without  frosts  they  would  neither  live  nor  thrive : 
they  are  sometimes  drowned  with  water,  and  yet  without  water 
'thev  cannot  subsist:  they  are  refreshed  and  cheered  by  the  heat 
of  the  sun,  and  yet  that  sun  sometimes  kil^  and  scorches  them 
UP  Thus  lives  my  soul:  troubles  and  afflictions  seem  to  kili 
all  its  comforts;  and  yet  without  these,  its  comforts  could  not 
live  The  sun-blasts  of  prosperity  sometimes  refresh  me,  and 
yet  'those  sun-blasts  are  the  likeliest  way  to  wither  me:  By 
what  seeming  contradictions  is  the  life  ot  my  spirit  preserved' 
what  a  mystery,  what  a  paradox  is  the  life  of  a  Christian  { 

Of  the  whole  list  of  the   above   mentioned   persons,  your 
thoughts  hastily  settle  upon  Job.     You  look  at  Job  and  consi- 
der his  case  fully.     You   see   that  he  was  a  great  example   of 
affliction.     That  he  was,  perhaps,  the  most  fit  character  that 
God  could  select  to  afflict,  and  make  an  example  f  .«r  his  ch.uch 
in  all  succeeding  ages.     The  candle  of  God  had  long  shined  up- 
on him,  and  he  was  prospered  to  the  hijrhest  extent      \  ou  look 
at  him  surrounded   by  his  thousands  of  oxen,"  and  asses   and 
sheep,  and  camels,  and  servants,  and  a  large  family  of  chiidren, 
beinrr  honoured  by  all  the  people  of  the  country,  low  and  high, 
so  tbdt  he  was  the  greatest  of  all  the  men  of  the  east ;  but  above 
all    having  the  testimonv  of  God  himself,  that  there  was  none 
like  him  in  all  the  earth,  a  perfec:  and  an  upright  man,  one  that 
feared  God  and  eschewed  evil.     Uuoa  him,  who  was  so  upri-ht 
and  perfect,  that  there  was  none  like  hin.  upon  the  earth,  you  see 
God  sending  calamity  after  calamity-  the  Sibeans  falling  upon 
the  oxen  and  asses,  and  taking  them  away,  and  slaying  the  ser-- 
vants  with  the  edge  of  the  sword— the  fire  of  God  falling  from 
heaven,  and  burning  up   the  ^heep  and  the  servants  that  kept 
them— the  Chaldeans  making  out  two  bands,  taihug  upon  the 
camels,  taking  them  away  and  slaying   the  servants  that  vvere 
with  them,  with  the  edge  of  the  sword.     And  a  great  wind  ii^-na 
the  wilderness  smiiing  the  corners  of  the  house,  m  whicn  his 
chiidren  were  assembled,  causiiig  it  to  fail,  and  cru-h  them  all  to 
death.     All  these  heavy  blows  were  reported  to  him,  cue  alter 
another,  as  fast  as  he  could  hear.     You  see  him  th'.Js  stnpued 
naked  of  all  his  possessions,  and  comforts,  aod  honors,  and  m 
stead  thereof,  clothed  with  sore  biles,  from  the  sole  of  his  foot 
unto  his  crown,  and  they  inflicted  1  y  the  hand  ot  Sraan,  himseif. 
Perhaps  vou  check  your  th'^uohis  for  a  moment,   ana  usk 
yourself-wiiy  all  this,  on  so  go  >d  a  mau  ?      An  answer  readily 
rises  to  your  mind.     You  not  only  remember,  thai  a'!  have  sin- 
ned, and  th'Jie  is  n^.-iie  so  perfect  and  nm\^\d  in  the  sight  ol  G^d, 
^  not  to  need  chastisement  an<i  correction,  but  you  remembo, 


iS  CONSOLATIONS    ©P 

ail  Job's  ?rknowletlments.  '-He  fell  down  upon  the  ground 
and  worsn'.pped,  and  said — Naked  came  I  out  of  m}'  mother^s 
womb,  and  naked  shall  I  return  thither;  the  Lord  gave,  and  the 
J^>rd  hath  taken  away ;  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord,"  He  said 
to  his  wile — "What?  shall  we  receive  good  at  the  hand  of  God^ 
and  shall  we  not  receive  evil?"  "If  I  justify  myself,  mine  own 
mouth  shall  condemn  me,  if  I  say,  1  am  perfect,  it  shall  also 
prove  me  perverse."  You  recollect,  however,  that  he  spoke 
much  of  his  uprightness  and  righteousness.  You  think  he 
meant  in  the  sight  of  men;  and  further,  that  he  had  not  been 
guilty  of  great  and  crying  sins  in  the  sight  of  God  or  man. — 
That  he  had  not  sinned,  and  continued  to  sin,  and  delighted  in 
sin,  like  an  openly  wicked  man. 

But  he  is  grievously  alBicted,  and  you  proceed  to  compare 
yourself  with  him.  You  look  at  him,  deprived  of  his  substance, 
not  having  his  servants  and  children  to  nurse  him,  and  very  ear- 
.ly  in  the  scene,  (strange  to  tell  I)  his  very  wife  becommg  impa- 
tient and  advising  him  to  die.  You  fancy  that  your  own  eyes 
behold  him  covered  in  every  part,  all  over,  with  sore,  and  fever- 
ish and  painful  biles,  not  able  to  gain  any  rest  by  changing  his 
position  or  turning  himself  in  hi?  bed.  When  he  lies  down, 
he  says — "when  shall  I  arise,  and  the  night  be  gone?  I  am 
full  of  tossings  to  and  fro^  unto  the  dawning  of  the  day." 

Tossings!  tossings!  when  every  gentle  move  causes  hundreds 
of  aching,  piercing  darts  of  pain,  to  shoot  to  the  heart  from  eve- 
ry direction.  He  exclaims — "Oh  that  my  grief  were  thorough- 
ly weighed,  and  my  calamity  laid  in  the  balances  together! — 
For  now  it  would  be  heavier  than  the  sand  of  the  sea.  My 
bones  are  pierced  in  me  in  the  night  season.  My  bowels  boiled, 
and  rested  not.  My  face  is  foul  with  weeping,  and  on  my  eye- 
lids is  the  shadow  of  death!  The  days  of  affliction  have  taken 
hold  upon  me.  I  am  made  to  possess  months  of  vanity,  and 
wearisome  nights  are  appointed  to  me!"  Not  merely  days,  nor 
weeks,  but  months  of  vanity,  with  all  their  wearisome  nights, 
you  see  were  appointed  to  him,  m  this  indescribably  wretched 
condition. 

But  though  his  ^'strength  was  not  the  strength  of  stones,  nor 
his  flesh  of  brass,"  he  bears  up,  endures  it  all,  recovers,  and 
afterwards  sees  manj"-  good  days  upon  the  earth. 

By  this  comparison,  you  may  be  encouraged  and  consoled. — 
Youniay  have  hope,  both  as  a  sick  person,  and  as  a  christian. — 
As  a  christian,  perhaps  you  pause  to  reflect,  on  the  impatient 
manner  in  which  Job  cursed  his  day,  and  longed  to  die.  In 
your  present  condition,  you  can  easily  see  what  drove  him  to 
U.    But  was  it  right?    You  decidedly  say— it  was  not.     Hig 


T;aE    AFFLIGTED.  19 

patience  should  have  extended  so  much  farther  as  to  have  re- 
strained him  from  such  desperate  feelings  and  expressions.— 
Great  as  his  patience  was,  this  it  did  not  do. 

In  the  extremit}-  of  his  anguish,  and  the  bitterness  of  hi^ 
soul,  being  left  to  the  suggf'stions  of  his  own  corrupt  heart, 
and  in  the  hands  of  Satan,  he  most  violently  cursed  the  day  of 
his  birth — wished  he  had  never  been  born,  and  vehemently,  and 
fretfully  exclaimed — ''Oh  th.  t  1  might  have  my  request;  and 
that  God  would  grant  me  the  thing  that  I  long  furl  Even  that 
it  would  please  God  to  destroy  me;  that  he  would  let  looso  his 
hand,  and  cut  me  oSV  How  absurd  for  a  rational  and  immortal 
being,  and  a  converted  soul  too,  to  wish  that  he  had  never  had 
existence!  And  how  sinful  for  him,  even  in  Job's  extreme 
case,  to  dictate  to  the  all-wise  G^d,  and  by  praying  for  death, 
say  that  God  could  bless  him  more  in  that  way  than  any  other, 
and  by  it  most  advance '  the  divine  glory !  God  knew  best  how 
to  do  these  for  hinf,  and  with  him,  and  ho  did  it  by  preserving 
his  life  a  hundred  and  forty  years,  and  iTiikiiT  hi  n  doubly  pros- 
perous. In  his  calmer  moments,  however,  ''he  af  hori  ed  hi  mself 
for  this,  and  repented  in  dust  and  ashes,  acknowledging  he 
had  uttered  that  he  understood  not;  things  too  wonderful  for 
him,  which  he  knew  not.  Upon  the  whole,  he  held  fast  his 
integrity.  He  firmly  said — "Till  I  die.  I  will  not  remove  mine 
integrity  from  me.  My  righteousness,  I  hold  fast,  and  will  not 
let  it  go.  Though  he  slay  m  ',yet  will  1  trust  in  him.  For  1 
know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth,  and  that  he  shall  stand  at  the 
latter  day  upon  the  earth : 

And  though  after  my  skin,  worms  destroy  this  body,  yet  in 
my  flesh  shall  I  see  God. 

Ail  the  days  of  my  appointed  time,  will  I  wait,  till  my 
change  come." 

Moses,  the  meekest  man  of  whom  we  read,  when  grievously 
oppressed,  prayed  ''that  God  would  kill  him."  Elijah -request- 
ed for  himself  that  he  might  die."  "Jeremiah  passionately 
cursed  his  day."  And  Jonah  said--"0  Lord,  take,  I  beseech 
thee,  my  life  from  me;  for  it  is  better  for  me  to  die  than  to  live." 
You  think  God  permitted  these  eminently  pious  and  faithful  men 
when  severely  afilicted,  and  tried,  thus  to  fail  and  sin,  for  two 
great  purposes,  that  themselves  and  all  others,  who  put  their 
confidence  in  God  for  life  and  salvation,  might  know  and  feel 
their  own  weakness,  and  that  we  all  when  in  affliction,  might 
endeavour  to  shun  their  example,  and  if  we  should  feel  ourselves 
tempted  to  exhibit  the  same  sinful  impatience,  or  should  unhap- 
pily be  so  far  left  to  ourselves;  as  actually  to  fail  and  madly 
curse  our  day,  or  impatiently  wish  to  die,  we  may  think  ©fth^m 


2^  CONSOLATIONS   OV 

and  not  utterly  despair  of  the  grace  and  mercy  of  God.  The} 
afterwards  repented.  God  forgave  them,  and  while  on  earth 
they  looked  back  with  abhorrence  upon  their  want  of  resigna- 
tion, to  the  sovereign  will  of  God.  How  may  we  suppose  they 
now  look  upon  it,  from  heaven?  No  doubt  with  unspeakably 
greater  abhorrence.  Under  our  afflictions  then,  let  us  ever 
pray  most  fervently,  that  God  may  be  pleased  to  uphold  us,  and 
enable  us  to  shun  the  bad  example  of  these  good  men ,  and  in  the 
sharpest  conflicts,  so  resign  us  to  his  will,  that  we  may  say 
with  one  of  them — "Though  he  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  him.'-' 
After  you  have  compared  your  afflictions  with  the  trials  of 
Abraham,  and  Isaac,  and  Jacob,  and  Joseph,  and  the  whole 
list  of  those  mentioned  by  the  apostle,  in  the  eleventh  t© 
the  Hebrews,  "some  of  whom  had  trial  of  cruel  mockings^ 
and  scourgings,  yea,  moreover,  of  bonds  and  imprisonment — 
were  stoned,  were  sawn  asunder,  were  tempted,  were  slain  with 
the  sword — wandered  about  in  sheep  skins  and  goat  skins;  being 
destitude,  afflicted,  tormented;" — after  you  have  proceeded 
still  further,  and  compared  yourself  with  all  the  tried  and  afflict- 
ed saints,  martyrs  and  apostles,  mentioned  in  the  new  Testa- 
ment, you  will  then  compare  yourself  with  Christ  himself. 

Here  your  mouth  is  shut,  and  every  murmur  hushed.  He 
was  emphatically  called  by  the  prophet — *'a  man  of  sorrows 
and  acquainted  with  grief;  we  did  esteem  him  stricken,  smittea 
•f  God  and  afflicted."  And  why  afflicted?  not  for  himself,  not 
for  his  own  sin .  He  needed  no  chastisement  for  correction — he 
was  not  guilty. 

.  "The  chastisement  of  our  peace,  was  upon  him."  His  un- 
exampled sufferings  and  afflictions,  w^ere  voluntary — he  did  not 
«eed  them — he  chose  them.  He  was  willing  to  groan,  and 
.-^weat,  and  bleed,  and  die,  the  just  for  the  unjust.  You  think 
(jf  him,  and  look  at  him  under  his  great — his  infinite  afflictions^ 
You  seethe  sons  of  wickedness  and  violence,  persecuting  him 
ii-om  time  to  time,  and  him  escaping  for  his  life.  Not  like  you, 
he  not  only  felt  what  was  upon  him,  but  foresaw  all  that  was  to 
-;ome.  It  is  some  consolation  to  you,  that  the  future  is  conceal- 
ed from  your  view.  You  do  not  foresee  all  that  you  are  to  suf- 
fer; nor  even  know  that  you. are  to  suffer  any  thing  more  worth 
speaking  of.  Not  so  with  him.  The  immense  weight  of  his 
afflictions  was  to  come  upon  him  at  a  certain  hour,  and  he  knew 
his  l>our.  He  said,  long  before  it  came,  "mine  hour  is  not^'et 
come."  The  greater  part  of  his  sufferings,  previous  to  his 
hour  consisted  in  his  frightful,  and  soul  distressing  foreboding 
<^f  the  hour  itself.  Thus  they  were  all  made  to  tend  to,  ana 
centre  in,  that  awful  hour.     The  scene  of  them  was  not  extend" 


tltE    AFFLlOTEDi.  -^I 

ed  nor  complicated,  but  brought  down  to  a  single  point.  Keepr 
mg  this  in  view  then,  you  direct  your  eyes  to  him  as  he  ap- 
proaches nearer  and  nearer,  to  this  hour.  You  see  he  possesses 
all  the  sinless  feelings  and  exquisite  sensibilities  of  human 
nature.  As  he  draws  nigher  and  nigher,  his  foreboding  be- 
comes more  and  more  dreadful  and  distressing,  till  you  behold 
him  on  the  mount  of  Olives,  prostrate  upon  the  ground,  crush- 
ed by  the  anticipation  of  what  was  before  him  to  the  very  earth, 
being  sore  amazed  and  sorrowful,  and  very  heavy,  so  that  his 
grief  and  his  very  blood  burst  out,  and  he  exclaims,  ''My  soul 
is  exceeding  sorrowful,  even  unto  death !"  S©  terrified,  that  his 
human  nature  shrinks  back  at  the  sight  of  his  hour,  now  at 
hand,  and  he  cannot  forbear  praying  repeatedly  to  his  heavenly 
Father,  that  if  it  were  possible  the  hour,  and  the  bitter,  bitter 
cup  of  affliction,  which  he  was  then  to  drink,  might  pass  from 
him;  but  ever  concluding  with  perfect  patience  and  resignation, 
not  m\  will,  but  thine,  be  done. 

Here  you  learn  patience  and  resignation,  more  than  from  all 
others,  beside.  Your  thoughts  follow  him  on  to  the  awful  hour 
of  crucifixion;  which  was  his  hour  to  suffer,  and  the  hour  of  the 
sons  of  mischief,  and  the  power  of  darkness  to  inflict,  yea  of 
God  himsslf  tp  inflict.  What  then  must  be  the  affliction,  when 
powers  of  earth  and  hell,  yea,  and  of  heaven  itself,  unite  in 
afflicting!  You  gaze  at  the  scene— your  thoughts  cannot  ex- 
tend to  its  extent— your  conception  fails-^you  are  lost, — you  see 
that  the  affliction  is  infinite— altogether  peculiar,  unknown  and 
inconceivable !  In  comparison  to  it,  your  own,  however  severe, 
seems  to  you  to  dwindle  down  to  nothing,  and  almost  disappear. 

As  you  are  viewing  this  scene,  a  thought  occurs  to  your  mind 
which  is  unspeakably  consoling.  It  is,  that  Christ  endured  all 
this-,  that  you  and  others  might,  not  have  to  groan  under  it  eter*- 
nally.  You  feel  yourself  a  sinner,  and  that  you  deserved  to 
endure  the  punishment  of  sin,  what  he  endured,  which  was 
infinite  I V  more  than  you  could  h^ve  suflered  out  to  eternity. 

Almost  infinite  consolation  therefore,  comes  into  your  heart 
from  the  thought  that  you  are  delivered  from  this.  His  afllic- 
tions  were  penil,  the  punishment  of  sin.  Yours  are  on  account 
of  sin,  but  only  corrective,  for  chastisement.  Nevertheless, 
yours  belong  to  the  plan  of  salvation,  and  are  necessary  *'t:  fill 
up,  (m  a  certain  inferior  sense,)  that  which  is  behind  of  the 
•afflictions  of  Christ." 

From  all  these  considerations,  you  are  reconciled  to  bear 
th'Jin,  and  you  endeavour,  with  all  your  might,  to  check  and 
suppress  every  qualm  of  impatience,  every  rising  murmur  and 
complaint. 


22  COXSOLATIONS  0¥ 

These  are  some  of  the  sources  of  consolation  which  this 
world  affords  you,  in  your  disconsolate  condition.  These  are 
some  of  the  things  and  beings  in  this  world,  and  surrounding 
you,  to  which  your  mind  will  first,  and  most  naturally,  look  for 
consolation.     As  I  proceed,  I  shall  mention  one  or  two  more. 

March  17th,  18:48. 


Another  day  or  two  have  now  elapsed,  and  in  spite  of  all  the 
efforts  of  nature  •and  of  art,  and  the  kind  and  incessant  help 
of  your  faithful  nurse  and  physician,  and  Iriends,  you  are 
much  worse. 

lf*ouK  disease  rages  more  and  more,  and  now  begins  seriously 
to  threaten  to  prevail,  and  overcome  you.  Your  strength  is 
prostrated.  You  are  no  longer  able  to  stand  on  your  fe«t,  and 
can  scarcely  raise  yourself  in  your  bed.  You  are  emaciated. — 
Yoar  countenance  is  pale.  You  have  a  bad  taste  in  your  mouth. 
Your  breath  is  olfensive,  and  an  offensive  morbid  smell  rise» 
from  your  whole  body.  You  are,  indeed,  a  loathsome  object  to 
yourself,  and  tlv-se  around  you.  As  you  lie  upon  the  bed, 
your  hands  are  that  part  of  you,  which  you  most  readily  see; 
and  by  looking  at  them  you  discover  to  what  degree,  you  are 
reduced.  You  have  just  got  through  a  severe  night,  and  it  is 
morning.  The  light  returns,  and  tills  your  room,  but  brings 
little  or  no  refreshment,  or  animation  to  you.  Though  "the 
light  is  sweet,  and  a  pleasant  thing  it  is  for  the  eyes  to  behold 
the  sun,"  yet  but  little  sweetness  or  pleasantness  is  now  wafted 
upon  "the  wings  of  the  morning''  to  your  dark  and  gloom/ 
bre.st. 

You  turn  your  eyes  to  the  window  as  on  yesterday,  but  see 
nothing  new,  no  variety,  the  same  objects  present  themselves, 
and  you  have  long  since  become  tired  of  looking  at  them.  You 
cast  your  eyes  round  your  room,  and  see  the  table  covered  with 
phials  and  bottles  for  your  medicme,  and  plates  and  bowls,  and 
cups,  for  your  diet,  and  gruels,  and  drinks.  It  appears  to  you, 
what  it  really  is,  a  sick  person's  room,  the  prison  of  the  afflicted 
and  forlorn.  It  presents  both  the  smell  of  the  aj^othecary's 
shop,  and  the  bed  of  sickness.  After  breakfast  you  hear,  per- 
haps, in  an  adjoining  room,  the  other  members  of  the  family 
speaking  about  their  business,  and  of  going  this  way  and  that, 
to  attend  to  it.  You  hear  them  start  out,  and,  whether  it  is  so 
or  not,  they  seem  to  you  to  be  regardless  of  your  thoughts  and 
feelings.  They  are  now  out  of  hearing,  and  the  house  is  left 
silent.    You  cannot  follow  them,  nor  ev«n  rise  up.    You  are 


TH-lil    APFLICTEI?.  29 

left  to  yourself— "to  solitude — to  sorrow  left!''  Vour  thoughts 
recoil  upon  you  with  great  and  almost  overwhelming  force. — 
Many  times  through  your  life  you  have  visited  such  rooms,  and 
55^*1  the  sick  and  thought  ^heir  case  truly  bad,  but  never  before 
had  you  the  sick  person's  thoughts  and  feelings.  In  iheir  case 
you  saw,  but  now  you  feel.  And  such  a  flood  of  feeling  swells 
in  your  breast,  that  you  can  no  longer  restrain,  it  bursts  out  and 
— "like  a  crane  or  a  swallow,  so  do  you  chatter:  you  do  mourn 
as  a  dove."  You  cannot  bear  up — you  cannot  resist  the  tide  of 
feeling.  You  cry  out  in  the  bitterness  of  your  soul — -4  shall 
go  to  the  gates  of  the  grave.  I  shall  behoid  man  no  more,  with 
the  inhabitants  of  the  world."  You  weep — "you  water  your 
oouch  with  your  tears." 

In  the  midst  of  these  doleful  chatterings  and  mournings  there 
is  a  gentle  rap  at  your  door.  Your  nurse  steps  and  opens  it,  and 
bids  your  minister  walk  in.  He  has  reeeived  your  call,  and  is 
Gome  to  see  you.  He  is  an  aged,  gray-headed  man;  of  tried, 
and  established,  and  unblemished  character;  against  whom  no 
charge  can  be  brought,  except  by  the  tongue  of  slander,  and 
whom  you  have  long  reverenced  and  loved,  and  with  great  de- 
light and  profit,  heard  preaching  and  proclaiming  the  gospel — - 
"the  good  tidings  of  great  joy — glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and 
on  earth  peace,  good  will  toward  men."  He  is  a  man  of  exten- 
sive education.  Particularly,  he  has  long  studied  and  meditat- 
ed upon,  the  stupendous  and  glorious  plan  of  salvation,  whick 
causes  so  much  wonder  in  the  universe.  His  mind  is  truly  cuN 
tivated  and  enlarged. 

"I  would  express  him  simple,  grave,  sincere; 
la  doctrine  uncorrupt;  in  language  plain, 
•And  plain  in  manner;  decent,  solemn,  chaste, 
And  natural  in  gesture;  much  imp ress'd 
Himself,  as  conscious  of  his  awful  charge; 
And  anxious  mainly ,  that  the  flock  he  feeds 
May  feel  it  too ;  affectionate  in  look. 
And  tender  in  address,  as  well  becomes 
A  messenger  of  grace,  to  guilt)'  men." 

Perhaps  like  you,  m  days  past,  he  has  been  sick  and  "felt  the 
same."  He  is  intimately  acquainted  with  human  nature  in  all 
its  propensities,  and  calamities,  and  hopes.  With  such  a  heartj 
all  tenderness,  aflTection,  love  and  sympathy ;  and  with  a  coun- 
tenance, calm  and  firm,  as  his  who  trusts  in  the  living  God,  he 
g.ntly  approaches  your  bed  side,  and  in  a  low  tone  of  voice 
oails  you  by  name,  and  asks  you  how  you  feel  this  morning? — 
He  hears  your  reply,  then  deliberately  seats  himself  in  a  chair 


24  CON'SOLATI0N3  OF 

at  the  head  of  your  bed— tenderly  takes  you  by  the  hand~-look» 
you  in  the  face,  with  a  pleasant  smile,  and  thus  addresses  you  at 
length,  allowing  you,  as  he  proceeds,  sufficient  intervals  to  rest, 
and  take  refreshment. 

My  dear  tellow  mortal,  and  fellow  christian,  you  are  sick  and 
feeble,  *'the  days  of  niBiction  have  taken  hold  upon  you,"  and  you 
are  brought  low.  The  dark  nights  of  adversity  hover  over  you, 
and  you  are  sad  and  sorrowful.  We  all  feel  for  you,  most  tenderly 
and  affectionately.  Your  friends  have  been  doing  every  thing 
in  their  power  for  your  relief  and  restoration,  and  the}  will  not 
only  continue,  but  increase  their  exertions.  They  will  inces- 
santly use,  to  the  utmost  of  their  skill,  all  the  means  within 
their  reach  to  raise  you  up  again  to  health,  and  comfort,  and  ac- 
tive life. 

The  power  of  medicine  is  great,  it  may  yet  work  a  very  salu- 
tary  and  desirable  change  upon  you.  You  are  not  yet  so  low 
as  I  have  seen  others,  who  lived  long  afterwards.  Much  de- 
pends, (as  no  doubt  your  physician  has  told  you,)  upon  the  state 
of  your  mind. 

No  two  things  are  more  intimately  connected,  than  your  soul 
and  body. 

The  one  suffers  with  the  other.  Your  mind  needs  medicine, 
as  well  as  your  body.  The  only  medicme  wliich  you  can  obtain 
foi  it,  is  pleasant  thoughts.  They  will  produce  pleasant  feel- 
ings—and pleasant  feelings  in  the  mind,  will  counteract  un- 
pleasant feelings  in  the  body.  Therefore,  by  inviting  and  woo-* 
ing  such  thoughts  and  indulging  in  thfm,  you  will  make  an  at- 
tack upon  your  disease,  though  indirect,  yet  powerful. 

I  have  been  told  that  you  have  endeavoured  to  obey  the  charge 
of  your  doctor,  and  have  been  gathering  in  all  the  consolotary 
thoughl-syou  could  from  the  things  and  beings  of  this  world. 

In  so  doing,  you  have  acted  perfectly  righ'  You  are  still  an 
inha  ;ita)itof  this  world,  and  i- is  notoaly  your  duty,  but  privi- 
lege, to  continue  to  use  it  to  the  best  advantage.  You  will  do 
well,  therefore,  to  contmue  mu>in:  ns  much  as  you  can,  upon 
aU  the  manif)ld  works  of  G-d,  which  in  wisdom  he  has  made 
here  below.  The  whole  creation  is  !  efore  your  vieWs  in  all  its 
visible  and  sensible  oljects,  whether  animate  or  inanimate,  ra- 
tional or  irratio  :al.  You  may  view  the  me  t  and  things  of  this 
world,  in  ever)  new  light  you  can.  All  the  p;;rts  of  «reution, 
from  thf>  profoundesf  philosopher,  down  to  the  minutest  particle 
of  dust,  briliinntly  exhii  it  the  divine  wisdom.  When  it  is  said^ 
*'the  *vh.>ie  earth  is  ful!  of  the  glory  of  God,"  the  sayiiig  is  true. 
Creati.»n  thyii,  furnishes  you  a  vast  and  boundless  field  in  which 
you  may  I«t  your  iho  ights  roam  at  iarge,  in  order  to  amuse  your 
mmd  and  drown  your  sorrows. 


THE  AFFLICTEB.  'C^. 

In  this,  you  only  need  one  cauticfn,  and  that  is,  to  remember, 
<?that  they  that  use  this  world  must  use  it  as  not  abusing  it;  for 
llie  fashion  of  this  world,  passeth  away." 

But  God  is  not  only  the  God  of  creation,  but  of  providence-. 
He  not. only  made  the  world,  but  governs  it.  His  providence 
is  over  all  things.  Here  is  another  field,  equally  extensive  with 
creation,  in  which  your  thoughts  may  roam.  This  too,  is  a 
field  which  is  far  more  congenial  to  your  present  condition  and 
feelings,  than  creation.  There  are  equal  displays  of  divine 
wisdom  and  power  in  it,  and  not  only  so,  but  a  display  of  these 
and  even  of  divine  goodness,  in  your  present  bad  and  unhappy 
feelings,  themselves.  Of  this  you  will  be  convinced,  when  you 
reflecr— "that  affliction  cometh  not  forth  of  the  dust,  neither 
doth  trouble  sprmg  out  of  the  ground."  "God  is  the  judge;  he 
putteth  down  one,  and  setteth  up  another."  He  it  is ,  that  says 
in  the  fulness  of  his  own  independence  and  sovereignty— "I 
kill,  and  I  make  alive;  I  wound,  and  I  heal."  You  will  there- 
fore, naturally  be  much  occupied  in  meditating  upon  the  multi- 
form and  various  allotments,  and  appointments,  of  providence. 
You  will  most  naturally  meditate  upon  the  endless  vicissitudes 
and  changes,  through  which  men  pass  in  this  world  of  uncer- 
tainty, toil  and  strife.  Of  their  prosperity  and  adversity— their 
success  and  disappointments — one's  being  sick,  and  getting  well 
— some  lingering  for  a  length  of  time  in  sickness — others  dying 
suddenly — the  great  majority  being  cut  off  before  they  arrive 
at  old  age — aed  you  will  think  of  the  innumerable  instances  of 
the  first^being  made  last,  and  the  last  first,  contrary  to  their  own 
expectations,  in  almost  every  case.  It  is  proper  and  desirable, 
that  you  should  indulge  in  all  these,  and  such  like  thoughts, 
about  this  present  visible  world,  (however  bad  your  case  may 
be,)  for  the  purpose  of  preserving  and  prolonging  your  life. 

But  there  is  another  world,  though  invisible,  yet  real.  This 
we  know  by  faith,  and  it  is  an  unspeakable  consolation,  decided- 
ly, to  know  it.  To  this,  it  is  my  special  and  sacred  duty,  as  a 
minister  of  the  gospel,  to  direct  the  attention  of  my  fellow  men^ 
whether  in  health  or  sickness. 

About  this  invisible  future  v»orld,  you  have  read  much  in  the 
revelation,  which  it  has  pleased  God  to  give,  concerning  it.-— 
This  revelation  is  called  the  word  of  God,  and  is  contained  in 
the  Bible.  From  the  accounts  there  given,  you  have  long  di- 
rected your  attention  to  the  invisible  world.  Frcm  the  stupen- 
dous and  glorious  exhibitions  of.  nature,  and  the  existence  of 
intellect  in  man,  and  the  plain  and  conclusive  declarations  of 
revelation,  you  believe,  and  are  firmly  persuaded  in  your  mind^ 
ar.d  fuUv  satisfied,  that  there  is  such  a  world.     That  there  is  a 


^  CONSOLATIONS    OF 

God,  who  is  a  spirit,  and  that  there  are  with  him,  angelic  spirits 
without  bodies.  That  the  soul  of  nnan  is  a  spirit,  and  im'.Bor- 
tal, — cannot  die,  nor  perish,  nor  be  destroyed  by  any  but  God, 
and  he  has  said  he  v/ill  never  annihilate  it.  These  thougkts, 
and  this  taith,  are  not  new  to  you.  In  the  days  of  your  health 
and  strength,  they  occupied  your  mind.  Your  mind  was  much 
given  to  them.  And  since  youi*  sickness,  much  more.  As 
your  health  and  strength  decline,  you  think  more  and  more 
about  the  invisible  world,  and  perhaps  have  new  and  enlarged, 
and  more  realizing  views  of  it.  As  you  draw  nearer  to  it,  you 
see  it  plainer,  and  your  hopes  of  happiness  in  it  increase. 

How  are  these  things  with  3'ou?  Are. they  so?  It  may  be 
you  are  able  to  answer  him  decidedly,  that  they  arc  so.  You 
say,  though  at  times  I  have  had  some  temptations  to  doubt,  yet 
the  evidences  of  my  faith,  have  grown  stronger  and  stronger, 
and  my  hopes  of  a  happy  immortality  brighter  and  brighter; 
and  in  a  ten  fold  degree,  since  my  sickness.  I  know  now  what 
is  meant,  when  it  is  said —''In  their  affliction,  they  will  seek  me 
early."  I  find  affliction  to  be,  like  the  law,  a  good  school  mas- 
ter to  bring  me  to  Christ  and  fill  my  mind  with  all  holy  graces 
and  heavenly  contemplations.  It  constrains  me  ''to  look  not  at 
the  things  which  are  seen,  but  at  the  things  which  are  not  seen." 
It  makes  religion  and  heayen  to  appear  reaZ.  Your  minister  is 
happy  to  hear  you  express  yourself  thus.  Teils  you  that  all 
this  is  just  as  it  should  be,  and  proceeds  in  speaking  to  you  of 
the  invisible  world  He  says,  my  dear  fellow  mortal,  the  things 
which  are  seen  are  temporal,  of  short  duration;  but  the  things 
which  are  not  seen,  are  eternal,  of  endless  duration.  This 
visible  world,  is  to  come  to  an  end — the  invisible  world  abi- 
deth  ever. 

''Faith  is  the  substance  of  things  hoped  for,  the  evidence  of 
things  not  seen."  It  is  a  great  channel  opened  into  the  invisi- 
ble world,  down  through  which  consolations  may  flow  into  the 
hearts  of  the  disconsolate.  Far  the  larger  part  of  those  conso- 
lations which  may  come,  will  consist  in  hope. 

It  is  true,  something  of  the  spirit  of  heaven — some  of  th« 
graces  which  adorn  and  beautify  the  inhabitants  of  the  invisible 
world — some  small  part  of  their  perfect  happiness,  may  flow 
into  your  breast  as  an  earnest  that  you  will  ultimately  possess 
the  whole,  but  so  long  as  that  world  continues  to  be  an  invisible 
world,  the  main  income  which  you  will  receive  from  it,  will 
consibt  in  hope.  All  that  you  will  have  to  suffer,  you  will 
suffer  in  hope — hope  not  only  of  being  delivered  from  all  suffeu^ 
ing,  but  of  bei'Tg  put  in  possession,  at  length,  o{  the  perfect  and 
uninterrupted  happiness  of  the  invisible  world.    This  happi- 


UHE    AFFUCTBD.  ^7 

ness  IS  promised  loall  who  believe  there  is  such  a  world,  arxd 
•'lay  hold  on  the  hope  set  before  them."  7'he  promises  of  it^ 
you  have  found  in  the  Bible,  in  almost  every  part.  They  are 
very  numerous,  very  plain,  and  full  of  consolation.  They  are 
variously  expressed,  and  suited  to  men  in  every  condition  of  life. 
The  following  arc  a  fevv  of  those,  which  are  applicable  to  your 
present  condition.  'Blessed  are  they  that  mourn:  for  they 
shall  be  comforted.  Blessed  are  ye  that  weep  now:  for  ye 
shall  laugh.  Ye  shall  be  sorrowful;  but  your  sorrow  shall  be 
turned  unto  joy.  He  that  endureth  unto  the  end,  shall  be  sav- 
ed. To  him  that  overcometh,  will  I  give  to  eat  of  the  tree  of 
life,  which  is  in  the  midst  of  the  paradise  of  God." 

The  pious  and  inspired  David  and  Paul,  were  meti  much 
afiflicted,  and  they  express*  themselves  in  the  following  consoling 
and  encouraging  language.  ■*  Weeping  may  continue  for  a  night 
but  joy  cometh  in  the  morning.  Remember  the  word  upon 
which  thou  hast  caused  me  t.-  hope.  This  is  my  comfort  in 
my  sfiiictioni  for  th}  wtrd  hath  quickereci  me  For  which 
cause  we  taint  net;  but  though  our  outv.ard  man  perish,  yet  the 
inward  man  is  renewed  day  by  day.  F<^r  our  light  afiSiction, 
which  is  but  for  a  moment,  worketh  for  us  a  far  more  exceeding 
and  eternal  weight  cf  glory." 

You  observe  three  things  conspired  together,  to  afford  them 
comfort  and  consi.latii;n,  under  their  uncommon  afflictions.— 
That  they  were  lij^h^,  short,  and  to  be  succeeded  by  joy  and  a 
weight  of  glory.  Light,  m  comparison  to  what  they  deserved, 
and  in  comparisonto  the  joy,  the  fullness  of  joy,  and  the  glory, 
the  exceeding  weight  of  glory,  that  were  to  follow.  Short,  in 
comparison  to  the  afflictions  of  many  others,  and  to  eternal  suf- 
ferings. All  this  may  be  summed  up  in  their  possessing  an^ 
exercising  hope,  through  faith.  There  is  nothing  which  ena- 
bled them,  and  other  good  men,  who  have  been  grievously' 
affiicted,  or  even  Christ  himself,  under  his  sufferings,  to  consi- 
der their  atHictions  light,  or  even  short,  but  the  hope  of  their 
coming  to  an  end,  and  being  followed  by  joy  and  glory,  in  the 
invisible  world. 

**ISo  affliction,  no  chastening  for  the  present,  seemeth  to  be 
joyous  but  grievous.'"  Before  Christ  himself,  a  reward  was 
held  out.  "He  for  the  joy  that  was  set  before  him,  endured  the 
cross,  despising  the  shame,  and  is  set  down  at  the  right  hand  of 
the  throne  of  God."  I'he  joy  set  before  him,  was  the  salvation 
•f  his  peoj  'S — that  he  should  ?ee  cf  the  travail  oi  his  soul,  and 
be  satisfied.  It  was  the  joy  of  sitting  down  at  the  right  hand  o^ 
the  throne  of  God — the  fulness  of  joy  and  the  exceeding  weight 
of  glory,  which  ^re  peculiar  to  the  God-head.     Joy  and  glojfjr 


38  CONSOLATIONS   Oi^ 

©f  that  kind  are  not  held  out  to  you.  The  ?ame,  however,  that 
were  set  before  David  and  Paul  and  all  the  f^iithful  and  pious, 
are  set  before  you;  and  these  possess  a  fulness  and  exceeding 
weight;  all  that  you  are  capable  of  receivixig  and  enjoying. — 
Heaven  then,  with  all  its  rich  rewards-r-its  fulness  of  joy — its 
exceeding  weight  of  glory — its  perfect  peace  and  boundless  and 
eternal  blessedness,  is  tlie  oi)ject  of  your  hope.  No  affliction 
there,  no  sickness,  nor  sorrow,  nor  pain,  nor  death.  And  O! 
the  transporting  thought!  this  perfect  happiness  will  have  no 
end,  It  will  be  eternal.  My  dear  fellow  mortal,  your  affliction 
here  cannot  be  long;  you  may  weep  for  a  night,  but  joy  will 
come  in  the  morning.  Your  outward  man  may  perish,  as  you 
are  already  pale  and  emaciated,  but  your  inv/ard  man  will  be 
renewed  day  by  day.  But  think  of  time  and  eternity! — Your 
light  affliction  which  is  but  for  a  moment  is  working  out  for  you 
a  far  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory!  Thiak  of 
the  aillictions  of  Christ,  and  of  the  damned — his  infinite — their'e 
eternal,  and  both  grievous,  weighty — an  immense  load.  Your's 
is  light.  Certainly  light,  or  it  would  long  since  have  taken 
your  life.  You  have  not  much  strength  in  your  body — it  can- 
not bear  much — Christ  was  supported  purposely  to  sufter,  and 
so  are  the  damned.  Not  so  with  you.  Hovv^ever  heavy  your 
affliction  may  feel,  it  is  but  light  chastisement — and  but  f  ^r  a 
moment.  Were  it  to  continue  the  whole  length  of  man's  lite, 
three  score  and  ten  years,  in  comparison  with  eternity,  it  would 
be  but  for  a  moment.  And  when  this  moment  is  over,  what 
then?  Your  affliction  during  this  moment  is  working  out  for 
you  a  far  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory.  These 
terms  are  acknowleded  by  all  to  be  the  most  expressive  that  the 
apostle  could  use.  When  your  moment  of  affliction  shall  be 
over,  you  are  looking  not  only  for  glory,  but  a  weight  of  glory, 
notOQiy  for  a  weight  of  glory,  but  an  eternal  weight  of  glory, 
and  not  only  for  an  eternal  weight  of  glory,  but  a  far  more  ex- 
ceeding and  eternal  weight  of  glory. 

This  is  what  the  invisible  world  presents  to  your  view, 
through  faith.  This  is  what  you  hope  for,  and  the  hope  is  un- 
speakably consoling  and  supporting,  "It  is  an  anchor  to  your 
soul,  both  sure  and  steadfast,  entering  into  that  within  the  veil." 
It  binds  you  to  heaven,  and  heaven  to  you,  with  a  cable  and 
anchor,  sure  and  steadfast,  which  cannot  be  broken.  It  makes 
3ure  unto  you,  the  indescribable  giory,  and  perfect  and  eternal 
happiness  of  the  invisible  world. 

Christ  purchased  not  only  his  people,  but  heaven  for  them; 
and  he  has  gone  to  prepare  mansions  to  receive  them,  whea 
2hey  leave  this  world.    He  dwelt  in  the  invisible  world  of  old. 


5«B     AFPLICTE».  29 

^' from  everiasting;"  but  in  the  fulness  of  time  he  came  down 
from  heaven,  was  made  flesh,  and  dwelt  among  'JS,  that  he  mii^jht 
speak  imto  men  ''  face  to  face,  as  a  man  speaketh  unto  his 
friend"  D  inncp  the  days  of  his  flesh,  he  was  specially  the 
visible  g:reat  Comforter  of  the  a-iiifte'^^l,  and  disconsolate.  "He 
c*;mf  Tted  them  that  mourned."  To  them  his  langasre  was — "lie 
of  good  comf*)rt — peace  be  unto  you,"  so  long  as  he  remained 
am^mg  them.  So  that  '•  their  consolation  abounded  throuiih 
Christ."  And  when  he  was  about  to  go  away — "He  said  unto 
them,  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled;  ye  believe  in  God,  be- 
lieve also  in  me.  And  I  will  pray  the  Father,  and  he  shall 
give  you  another  Comforter,  that  he  may  abide  with  ycm  for 
ever.  I  will  not  leave  you  comfortless;  but  the  Comforter, 
which  is  the  H)ly  Ghost,  whom  the  Father  wiii  send  in  mj 
name,  He  shall  teach  you  all  things,  and  bring  all  things  to 
your  rememl^rance,  whatsoever  1  have  said  unto  you." 

Therf^  is.  therefore,  my  dear  atiiicted  friend,  r>iie  and  a  great 
one,  whose  very  business  is  to  comfort  the  comfortless;  whose 
very  name  is,  The  Comforter,  and  who  is  to  abide  ever  with 
the  comf  trtless.  His  consolations  vou  may  now  luck  for  and 
expect.  He  is  of  the  invisible  world  and  himself  invisible. — 
You  will  neither  see  nor  hear  him,  nor  feei  him  with  your 
hands,  but  you  may  feel  him  in  your  heart — your  discon- 
solate heart.  He  will  comfort  and  console  you,  by  ini'u.sing 
into  your  mind  ihe  best  of  thoughts  and  feelin»Ts;  holy  and 
happy  thoughts  and  feelings.  In  days  past  he  has  convin- 
ced you  that  you  are  a  sinner,  and  you  are  deepl}  humbled. 
He  will  now  come  pointing  you  to  the  plan  of  salvation — 
yea,  bringing  salvation  into  your  heart.  He  will  greatlv  aid 
you— teaching  you  all  things,  making  the  plan  of  salvatica 
to  appear  plain,  so  far  as  necessary,  to  your  view;  so  that  you 
will  see  clearly  how  God  can  be  just,  and  yet  j"stify  the  un- 
godly—how  even  yourself  can  be  justified  and  saved.  Fie 
xviil  bring  all  things  to  your  remembrance,  whatsoever  Christ 
has  said  or  done  to  save  poor  sinners.  He  is  rhe  author  of 
your  faith  and  hope — he  implanted  those  graces  in  your 
breast;  and  when  you  iee\  confirmed  in  faith,  and  your  breast 
glows  with  a  full  assurance  of  hope,  you  may  consider  these 
flowing  into  your  disconsolate  heart  from  the  great  invisible 
Comibrter. 

An  enemy  will  always  take  advantage  in  makincr  his  attacks. 
Your  enemies,  with  Satan  at  their  head,  will  rake  advantage  of 
your  afflicted  and  weak  state.  They  may  pcihaps  make  a  vio- 
lent onset  upon  you.  and  exeri  the  utmost 'of  i  heir  skill  and  pow^r 
to  stagger  your  faith  and  put  out  your  hope.     They  may  evetp 


30  CONSOLATIONS   OF 

tempt  you  to  believe  that  there  i^5  no  invisible  world — no  God^ 
no  Saviour,  no  invisible  Comforter,  no  angels,  and  no  immortali- 
ty for  man.  When  your  mind  strongly  repels  such  thoughts  and 
temptations,  believmg  them  to  come  from  the  devil,  and  you  are 
enabled  resolutely  to  say  *-get  behind  me  Satan ;"  when  you  look 
upon  him  and  his  legions  as  vanquished  enemies  and  yourself 
no  louiier  th'ir  prisoner — when  you  triumph  over  them,  and 
look  with  contempt  upon  the  alluremenis  of  this  vain  and  fleet- 
ing world — when  you  feel  rooted,  and  grounded,  and  built  up 
and  established  in  the  faith  of  an  invisible  and  eternal  workl — 
when  your  breast  swells  with  a  livmg  holy  hope  of  a  glorious  and 
h'lppy  immortality — all  th.is  you  mscy  reasonably  consider  the 
kind  and  efficient  work  ot  the  great  invisible  Comforter  within 
you.  This  is  the  greatest  and  fullest  consolation  vv  hich  you  can 
receive  from  any  source  whatever  while  you  remain  beneath  the 
sun.  lt^c<msoles  you.  not  only  for  time,  but  in  view  of  eternity. 
Time  is  short,  eternity  is  lonjj.  The  full  and  firm  persuasion 
that  you  will  be  happy  through  eternity,  is  consolation  indeed. 
It  will  support  and  strengthen  you  under  the  afflictions,  and 
trials,  and  troubles,  and  disappointments  of  this  -jhort  ahd  mis- 
erable life.  You  know  that  "man  that  is  born  of  a  woman,  is  of 
fe'.v  days,  and  full  of  trouble.  He  cometh  forih  like  a  flower, 
and  is  cut  down:  he  fleetli  also  as  a  shadow  and  continueth  not." 
*' Verily  evepy  man  at  his  best  state,  is  altogether  vanity.""  It 
is  emphatically  declared  that  ''all  is  vanity"  here  below. — 
You  find  it  to  be  so.  You  found  it  to  be  so  in  your  best  state, 
when  you  were  in  health.  You  look  upon  this  world,  howev  er 
excellent  it  may  appear,  as  groaning  under  the  curse  of  its  Ma- 
ker. You  say  w  iih  Job,  '^  I  would  not  live  always."'  Such  is 
the  view  which  you  have  of  his  world,  when  your  heart  is  full 
of  the  consolations  of  the  great  C-.<mforter.  And  your  view  of  the 
eternal  world  is  most  animating  and  consoling.  When  the  great 
Comforter  comforts  you,  you  receive  "strong  consolation,  yea, 
everlasting  consolation  find  go(;d  h^>pe  through  grace;"  so  that 
you  are  enabled  to  say  wiih  an  apostle,  "you  are  filled  with 
comfort,  you  are  exceeding  jovful  in  ail  your  tribulation  " — 
Truly  this  is  consolation  which  so  much  consoles  you  and 
sooths  your  pains  as  to  enable  you  to  be  exceeding  joyful  in 
all  your  tribulation.  Such  are  the  conscla'ions  of  the  great 
Comforter;  and  although  he  is  not  only  the  great  but  the  great- 
est of  all  invisible  comforters,  yet  there  are  others.  There  are 
angels,  inferior  created  spirits,  whose  very  name  means  mes- 
sengers, and  who  are  "all  ministering  spirits,  (and  in  times  of 
need,)  seat  fcrtl-  by  the  God  of  all  comfort  to  minister  for  them 
who  shall  be  heirs  of  salvation."    They  ministered  to  our  fa- 


THE  AFFLICTED. 


31 


thera.     When  Abraham  was  tried  to  a  degree  beyond  what  is 
common  to  men,  "an  angel  of  the  Lord  called  unto  him;'  and 
spoke  words  of  consolation.     When  Jacob  was  in  deep  distress 
the  ^'angelsof  God  met  him."  An  angel  fed  and  refreshed  Elijah 
when  violently  persecuted  by  his  enemies  far  into  the  lonely,  dis- 
mal wilderness.     Those  kind  invisible  spirits  delivered  Daniel, 
and  many  others,  in  the  hour  of  sharpest  triab.     It  is  said  of 
Christ  "he  was  there  m  the  wilderness  forty  days,  tempted  of  Sa- 
tan, and  was  with  the  wild  beasts ;  and  the  angels  ministered  unto 
him."     And  when  he  sweat,  as  it  were,  great  drops  of  blood, 
falling  down  to  the  ground,  there  appeared  an  angel  unto  him 
from  heaven  strengthenintr  him.     An  angel  delivered  the  apos- 
tle  Paul  from  prison.     One  of  these  kind  messengers  visited 
and  consoled  the  disconsolate  and  forlorn  Peter,  when  loaded 
with  irons,  in  a  gloomy  prison,  caused  his  chains  to  fall  from 
his  hands,  bid  him  gird  himself,  bind  on  his  sandals  and  follow 
him  out  of  the  cheerless,  dismal  cell.     ''The  beggar  died,  and 
was  carried  by  angels  into  Abraham's  bosom."    Thus  you  see^ 
"theagels  of  the  Lord  encamp  round  about  them  that  fear  him, 
and  deliver  them."  .  There  will  be  no  impropriety  in  your  fan- 
cying them  to  be  round  about  you  at  this  time  of  need. 

Console  yourself,  then,  by  supposing  a  band  of  these  ceies. 
tial  invisible  comforters  to  be  emcamped  r9und  you,  not  only  as 
a  guard  of  warriors  to  keep  off  your  enemies,  but  to  minister 
consolation  and  strength  to  your  feeble  body  and  mind.    Think 
of  them,  always  awake,  active,  mighty  and  unwearied  in  repel- 
ling your  invisible  enemies,  and  administering  consolation  to 
your' drooping  spirits.     These  are  faithful  messengers  and  min- 
isters of  the  great  invisible  King.     They  will  never  leave  the 
post  which  he  assigns  them  without  his  special  order.     They 
delight  to  help  the  needy.     So  long  as  your  days  of  trial  last, 
you  may  think  of  them  hovering  over  your  pillow,  feeling  for 
you  in  all  your  pains  and  sorrows,  and  incessantly  ministering  to 
your  necessities      At  the  hour  of  death,  the  beggar  was  carried 
by  them  to  Abraham's  bosom;  and  it  would  not  be  presumption 
in  you  when  you  die,  to  expect  to  be  carried  by  the  same  faith- 
ful attendants  into  the  invisibls  world,  which  will  then  be  visible 
to  you.    All  clouds  and  mists  will  then  fly  from  before  your  eyes, 
and  you  will  see  with  open  face  the  friendly  comforters,  before 
unseen,  who  conveyed  you  there.     Th  •  whole  invisible  world 
will  then  be  opened  to  your  vi^^w  in  all  its  unknown  glories  and 
blessedness      You  wilfsee  all  the  angels,  and  all  the  ransomed 
fr  nn  among  men.     It  is  said  *•  the  pure  in  heart  shali  see  God." 
N  )ne  but  the  pure  in  heart  are  admitted  there.    If  you  gain  ad- 
tnissionj  you  will  see  God. 


32  Cdif^0LATI61ffg  &P 

Thus  when  you  endeavour  to  console  yourself  by  believing 
the  aiiirels  to  j-.e  around  you,  your  thoughts  are  earned  away  to 
that  hHppy  home,  to  whirh.  as  a  chrislinn,  vour  are  travelling. 

As  a  christian  minister,  I  must  not  fail  to  remind  you  that 
there  is  another  order  of  invisible  beings  from  wh'-m  you  may 
reasanably  expect  much  consolation,  perhaps  more,  ihan  fmm 
the  angels  themselves.  These  beings  are  too  little  ihoi  ght  of 
by  mankind  in  general,  and  especially  by  ihe  afilicted  and  dis- 
consolate. I  mean  the  souls  of  dt;parted  saints.  In  this  I  do 
Hot  design  to  tn^uble  you  with  empty  conjectures.  The  scrip- 
tures not  only  teach  that  the  s<.u!s  of  departed  saints  are  alive 
and  active,  but  that  they  too  are  sent  to  succor  the  tempted  and 
disconsolate.  Christ  tells  the  unl  elievin^r  Sadduceos.  that  God 
is  the  God  of  Abraham,  and  the  God  of  Isaac,  and  the  G«>d  of 
Jacob.  God  is  not  the  God  of  the  dead,  but  of  ihe  living. — 
Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob,  then,  are  alive,  and  capable  of 
feeing  sent  forth  by  him  who  is  ihe  God  of  the  living,  to  accom- 
plish any  of  his  grand  designs.  They,  like  Christ,  were  bone  of 
our  bone,  and  fle^-h  of  our  flesh.  Tbeir  spirits  were  truly  sister 
spirits  to  ours.  They  had  all  our  feelings  and  sympathies.- — 
They  are  acquainted  with  this  world.  In  iheir  day,  they  en- 
countered Its  Irials,  difficulties  and  woes.  .  Deeply  they  can  feel 
for  us,  and  anxious  they  must  be  to  come  forth  and  console  us 
whan  we  are  alHicted,  and  low,  and  disconsolate.  *' Moses  and 
E'ias.  appeared  unto  Christ  in  the  days  of  his  humiliation  and 
sufferings,  and  talked  with  him  concerning  the  awful  death 
tvhich  he  was  about  to  die,  affording  him  all  that  consolation 
and  strength,  which,  as  creatures,  they  were  capaWe  of  doing. 
One  of  the  old  prophets  appeared  to  the  apostie  John,  and  con- 
versed with  him  familiarly  and  tenderly,  saying  unto  him,  "1 
am  thy  fellow  servant,  and  of  thy  brethren  the  prophets,  and  of" 
them  which  keep  the  sayings  of  this  book."" 

The  days  of  miracles  are  past,  and  we  are  not  to  expect  the 
sjpirits  of  our  departed  fellow  men  to  appear  in  a  visible  mannep 
in  order  to  comfort  us,  but  you  may  console  yourself  by  fancy- 
ing iheni,  in  this  time  of  need,  either  in  company  with  other  an- 
gels or  alone,  to  be  hovering  over  }  our  bed  and  ministering  unto 
you.  The  deep  solicitude,  the  anxious  concern  of  Abraham, 
the  father  of  the  faithful,  while  in  this  world,  for  the  welfare  of 
his  fellow  men,  you  well  remember.  All  his  spiritual  children, 
ail  true  believers  that  have  died  and  passed  into  the  invisible 
world,  had  the  same  solicitude  and  concern  for  the  peace,  and 
comfort  and  happiness  of  their  poor  wretched  fellow  sufferers. 
No  soul  has  ever  desired  to  be  saved  and  obtain  salvation  that 
^id  not  strongly  desire  that  others  might  be  delivered  from  mir 


THE    AFFLICTED.  3t* 

dry  and  also  obtain  salvation.  And  can  you  think  for  a  mo~ 
ment,  that  that  desire  has  forsaken  their  breasts,  now  they  are 
eternally  safe  in  the  invisible  world?  Rather  conclude  that 
since  they  have  tasted  of  the  fullness  o(  joy  that  is  in  the  pre- 
sence of  God,  and  felt  the  pleasures  that  are  at  his  right  hand, 
their  desires  for  the  deliverance  and  salvation  of  those  who  are 
still  in  the  flesh,  are  increased  beyond  measure.  You  may  think 
of  them,  therefore,  standing  with  reverence  bef.re  the  throne  of 
God,  desiring  and  even  impatiently  waiting  to  be  sent  down  to 
assist  and  console  the  afllicted  and  forlorn.  O,  yes!  so  certain 
is  it  that  he  gratifies  them  and  sends  them  on  such  mepsages  of 
love  and  pity,  that  you  may  freely  indulge  the  thought  of  i here 
being  an  invisible  band  of  your  fellow  men  who  were  once  bon« 
your  bone  and  flesh  of  your  flesh,  and  felt  the  same  that  you  now 
feel,  even  in  this  time  of  sore  trial,  surrounding  and  upholding 
your  drooping  head,  and  ministering  unto  you  consolation  and 
strength.  Abraham  himself  may  even  now  be  here  assisting  you, 
or  some  one  or  more  of  the  faithful  patriarchs,  prophets,  or  apos- 
tles. Yea,  even  the  spirits  of  some  of  your  own  departed  pious 
relations  or  friends,  may  be  round  you  rejoicing  to  encourag© 
and  console  you  in  the  most  tender  and  and  aflectionate  manner. 

Thus  far  of  the  invisible  world  and  all  the  beings  of  it,  from 
whom  you  may  expect  consolation. 

In  what  I  have  further  to  say ,  I  would  advise  you  to  make 
all  the  use  you  can  of  those  christian  psalms  and  hymns  with 
which  you  have  been  best  acquainted ;  many  of  which,  no  doub^ 
you  have  treasured  in  your  memory. 

There  are  psalms  and  hymns  and  spiritual  songs,  peculiar  to 
almost  every  denomination  of  christians.  These  express,  ao 
cording  to  the  Bible,  almost  all  the  views,  and  feelings,  and 
hopes  of  the  christian,  in  whatever  condition,  this  side  of  the 
grave.  They  are  in  your  own  mother  tongue,  in  plain,  simple, 
familiar  language,  and  at  the  same  time  in  the  glowing,  ele- 
Taied,  animating,  and  some  of  them,  enrapturing  style  of  modr 
ern  poetry.  They  are  peculiarly  adapted  to  express  the  feel- 
ings of  the  human  heart.  So  much  so,  that  all  who  love  the 
sentiments  which  they  convey,  delioht  to  use  them.  Even  the 
most  learned  men,  when  upon  sick  beds  or  death  beds,  have 
used  them  to  express  their  views  and  feelings,  their  faith,  re- 
pentance, love  and  hope.  They  have  often  found  single  ver- 
ses, taken  from  difierent  hymns,  to  answer  this  purpose  in  a  most 
admirable  maimer.  You  may  do  the  same,  and  if  you  cannot 
recollect  enough,  some  friend  may  read 'them  for  you ;  especial- 
ly such  as  are  suited  to  your  aiflicted  s»ate.  They  may  also 
v^'dd  for  you  passages  in  any  good  book  v,  ith  whick  you  saay 


34  ooxgoLATio?rs  op 

be  pleased,  or  which  may  be  recommended  to  you  by  those  whc 
ka  iw  wii  it  a  gtjod  oook  is. 

liiit  above  all,  I  must  recommend  it  to  you  to  call  to  your 
mi'vd  all  tho^e  passages  of  scripture  which  are  familiar  to  you, 
and  Mhi'-'h  hive  heretofore  supported  your  faiih,  enkindled  your 
love,  atid  t'ri^hfened  your  hope.  As  iu  the  f  >nn.'ir  case,  you  may 
have  some  friend  to  read  for  you  any  chapter  or  verse  that  you 
may  ch  a)s^.  You  can  th  is  meditate  at  large  upaii  the  scrip- 
tures, and  hear  them  read  as  tnuch  as  your  strength  will  bear. 

Besides  these  exercises,  there  is  another  intimately  connect- 
ed wirh  tnem,  in  whieh  \ou  have  been  accustomed  to  engage; 
I  mean  prayer.  O,  what  amazing  love,  and  mercy,  and  con- 
descension is  it  i4i  God,  not  only  to  lend  a  listening-  ear  to  tha 
cries  of  poor  miseral-le  mortals,  but  to  answer  their  prayers. 
It  is  truly  amazing  conflescension  in  the  great  Creator,  who  is 
the  head  over  all  and  the  upholder  of  the  universe,  not  only  to 
permit,  but  direct  and  encourage  you  and  every  one,  at  all 
times,  but  especially  in  times  of  needy  to  ''come  boldly  unto  his 
throne  of  grace  to  obtain  mercy,  and  find  grace  to  help  in  time 
of  need,  and  to  speak  freely  unto  his  Majesty,  asking  him  for 
help  and  deliverance."  Ot  all  the  exercises  in  which  mortals 
can,  under  any  circumstances  engage,  this  is  the  most  devo- 
tional and  happy.  In  it  man  seems  to  approach  nearest  to  his 
G^d;  so  near  as  even  to  speak  with  him.  and  to  lay  hold  upon 
his  strength  and  receive  of  his  fulness.  The  mind  is  enlarged, 
elevated  even  to  heaven,  and  filled  with  holy  and  happy  emo- 
tions, li  has  indeed,  "communion  with  God,  and  with  his  son 
Jesus  Christ;"  and  from  this  communion  receives  a  large  income 
of  peace,  and  joy  and  strength.  O!  then,  in  tnis  lime  of  great 
weakness,  lift  up  your  soul  to  God  in  devout  and  earnest  prater, 
for  consolation — for  deliverance  and  strength.  And  if  you  do 
it  with  believing  and  operative  faith,  you  will  feel  comforted 
and  consoled  in  the  very  exercise. 

While  thus  lifting  up  your  hands  towards  heaven,  and  with 
your  voice  humbly  addressing  heaven's  King,  you  will  have  a 
foretaste  of  heaven's  felicity.  "Your  conversation  will  be  in 
heaven,"  and  at  least  for  a  short  time,  you  will  forget  the  dis- 
ease and  pains  under  which  your  body  labors.  Therefore,  I 
would  seriously  advise  you,  as  often  as  your  strength  will  per* 
mit,  to  pour  out  your  soul  to  God  in  humlde  fervent  prayer. — 
Beg  of  him  to  restore  you  to  hc^ilth,  if  consistent  with  his  will, 
and  to  grant  you  all  you  need  to  make  }ou  useful  and  happy 
while  you  live;  and  perfectly  and  eternally  happy  in  ihe  invis- 
ible world.  Ir  is  my  duty  to  be  faithful  and  honest  with  y<JUj 
Caador  and  honesty  compel  me  to  let  you  know  that  your  symg- 


THE     APFLICTBIS.  3h 

yoms  are  alarming.  It  is  true,  my  dear  friend,  that  you  are  dan- 
gerously ill.  Vojr  phs^sician  tuid  me  ih.il  li ;  w  r.iid  n  )t  be  sur- 
pnsjd  if  you  shouUi  die  m  a  few  da}S.  At  tins  you  should  not 
be  liighteaed.  S  j  S'<Oii  as  you  Decame  conscijusof  eAistence  in 
this  world,  S3  soon  as  you  were  able  to  think  and  kav>w  that 
you  were  alive,  you  were  told  ihat  you  h  id  to  die.  Vmi  have 
seen  others  die  around  you  from  tune  to  tune,  and  you  know  ;i8 
certainly  that  you  must  die,  some  time,  as  you  km-w  that  you  nre 
alive.  VV'liy  then  be  frightened  at  the  thought  <'f  detih?  Vuxi 
did  not  create  or  make  yourself;  you  have  not  preserved  your 
life,  neither  can  you  shun  deaih.  Ail  you  can  do  is  to  use  the 
means  which  your  physician  and  friends  think  best,  and  re&in;n 
yourself  into  the  hands  of  G.>d.  He  may  bless  the  means  in 
such  a  way  that  you  may  recover,  or  he  may  permit  the  dis- 
ease to  rau;e  to  such  a  deirree  as  to  take  vou  off.  At  ihis  criii- 
aai  time,  you  should  take  the  most  enlarged  and  extensive  view 
of  yoarself  as  connected  with  the  universe.  In  doing  this,  you 
will  look  back  to  the  day  of  your  birth,  to  the  time  when  }  ou 
received  existence  and  became  an  inhabitant  of  this  world. — 
You  will  reflect  that  the  world  had  stood  long  Kefore  you  came; 
that  it  had  once  done  without  you.  From  this  you  may  con- 
clude that  it  can  do  without  you  again.  It  has  always  been 
able  to  spare  those  on  whom  death  has  seized,  however  useful 
they  may  have  been,  or  whatever  their  connections  in  life.  So- 
eiety  has  at  all  times  been  able,  with  greater  or  less  inconven- 
ience and  difficulty,  to  do  without  any  of  its  members;  even  the 
greatest  men,  whose  inventions  and  labours  and  productions, 
have  been  most  useful  to  the  world,  and  who  were  bound  to  it 
by  all  the  tenderest  ties  of  love  and  affection;  who  were  main 
pillars  in  the  community;  on  whose  shoulders  the  great  con- 
cerns and  interests  of  societv  rested.  Providence  has  either 
raised  up  others  to  fill  their  places,  or  taught  s'urvivors  how  to 
manage  without  them.  If  so  with  respect  to  the  greatest  men, 
how  much  mote  easily  can  you  be  spared?  Whatever  be  vour 
eonnections  with  men — however  dependant  upon  you  others  nay 
be — even  if  you  are  a  father  or  mother,  wiih  a  numerous  and 
helpiess  family  ;  Providence  will  point  out  and  they  will  tin  out 
a  way  m  which  J  hey  can  do  without  you.  It  has  always  been 
your  duty  to  stand  ready  to  give  up  this  world,  and  let  it  go,  if 
required,  at  a  moment's  warning.  This  is  the  duty  of  all  men, 
at  all  times;  for  life  is  just  as  uncertain  as  it  is  certain  that  they 
have  once  to  die. 

Much  more  is  it  your  duty  at  this  'time,  after  you  have 
be«'n  warned  tor  many  days  by  this  very  threatening  di^c-ase, 
which  is  upon  you.     Whatever  you  may  think  of  the  buong  ties 


^  6d!7SdLATlON9   OF- 

which  bind  you  to  the  world  at  this  time,  and  however  ardesU! 
your  desires  may  be  to  accomplish  this  or  that  object,  yet  for 
anything  you  know,  you  may  be  in  a  more  favordble  condiii^m 
to  leave  the  world  now,  than  vou  ever  would  be  again.  You 
know  not  what  changes  might  take  place,  nor  how  much  worse 
your  aflairs  mi^ht  grow.  Thus  far  with  respect  to  what  you 
would  leave  behind;  I  thiik  you  should  be  calmly  reconciled 
to  give  it  all  up.  iNow  with  respect  to  yourself;  it  is  infiaitet}^ 
more  important  that  you  should  be  resigned  to  give  yourself  r.p. 
There  is  no  one  who  can  be  so  much  affected  by  your  death  ais 
yourself  Great,  unspeakably  great,  is  the  change  which  you 
will  experience.  But  a  few  diys  ago  you  were  strong  and  ac- 
tive. You  are  now  reduced  and  very  feeble.  The  change 
through  which  you  have  already  gone,  is  great;  but  is  princi- 
pally in  your  body.  That  through  which  you  have  yet  to  go, 
is  much  greater.  Your  soul  and  body  are  still  together,  but  in 
death  thev  will  be  forced  to  part,  and  your  soul  will  enter  upon 
anew  and  untried  state  of  existence.  M<tn  is  continually  pas- 
sing from  change  to  change,  through  ail  his  earthly  career,  and 
the  greatest  of  all  is  reserved  for  the  last  In  this  be  is  literal- 
ly and  actually  to  be  taken  to  pieces;  not  like  a  machine  whi'  h 
is  not  conscious  and  has  no  feeling ;  nor  yet  like  the  brute  which 
•annot  forsee  that  death  is  to  come  upon  it,  nor  perhaps  even, 
know  it  is  dying  when  it  is.  This  miui  can  do  for  years  i.ef  re- 
hand;  he  approaches  this  last  greatest  chunge,  in  which  he  is 
to  be  taken  to  pieces,  knowing  that  it  mmt  come,  and  that  lit 
cannot  escape  it.  He  draws  nigh  to  it  with  all  the  combined 
and  exquisite  feelings  of  soul  and  body.  No  wonder  thiit  death 
is  terriiile,  that  it  is  th.r  "king  of  terr-u-s;"  for  this  change  it- 
self this  ''failure  of  heart  and  flesh" — this  rending  asunder 
of  soul  and  body,  (saying  nothing  about  the  eternal  consequen- 
ces that  are  to  follow,)  is  awful  and  frightfu-l  work.  And  when 
these  consequences  are  bionglit  to  view,  it  is  doubly  so. 

Therefjre  death  is  justly  looked  upon  by  all  mankind  as  the 
Biost  serious  and  frightful  scene  through  which  they  have  to 
pass  here  below.  I  do  n -t  speak  thus  to  alarm  and  startle  you, 
but  because  it  is  true.  As  such  the  scriptures  recognise  it.  It 
would  ill  become  me  to  flatter  you  at  this  most  serious  time,  by 
representing  death  to  be  uv^thing  more  than  a  slight  change. — 
And  it  would  be  equally  improper  for  me  to  say  nothing  about 
it.  It  is  mv  sacred  duly  as  a  miniiiter  of  the  gospel,  to  speak  of 
it  according  to  truth,  not  with  a  view  to  terrify  you,  but  to  pre- 
pare vour  mind  to  meet  it  as  calmly  as  possible,  being  an  en- 
•my,  if  not  the  greatest  yet  very  great,  and  the  last  with  which 
you  will  luave  te  soHtond  in  this  vid^ible  world.     As  1  have  SHJ^^ 


THE    AFFLirTEP.  ^' 


that  which  makes  death  so  terrimc,  is  not  so  much  the  dissoht- 
tion  .>f  n  .tare;as  vvhat  is  to  follow.  We  are  f  .iiy  aad  ta.n....Hy 
arq-iainted  wih  everv  thing  that  takes  place  het,re  death.  Wc 
mav  approach  death  step  by  step,  seeing  plainly  the  ground  on 
whic.h  we  tread;  discovering  nothing  but  what  we  have  before 
known,  and  fueling  nothing  but  what  we  have  already  cxpe- 
rienced  throuiih  our  ordinary  senses;  but  the  very  first  step  be- 
vond  is  very  much  in  the  dark,  untried  and  unkt.own  by  con- 
sciousness  or  any  thing  that  our  sens -s  have  l^etore  experien- 
ced. We  knowno^hing  of  it  by  sensation  or  consciousness— 
we  have  never  felt  it  in  our  souls  or  bodies.  ^  .  ,    ^       i    , 

All  we  know  or  can  know  about  it,  is.ihrough  faith,  founded 
uprn  the  dim  light  of  nature,  and  upon  the  declarations  ot  the 
Bible  Whatever  we  experience,  we  know  for  ourselves,  and  do 
not  need  the  testimony  of  others.  For  instance,  you  kno^y  that 
vo'i  are  diseased  without  the  testimony  of  others;  but  vou  know 
iioihino-  .f  what  took  place  bef  .re  vou  were  born,  without  be- 
lievincTwhat  vou  have  heard  from  others.  In  that  way  you  may 
know  many  things  to  absolute  certainty.  Those  who  were  a^iye 
then,  saw  knd  heard,  &c.  the  things  which  ihey  have  related  to 
YOU.  With  ihem  they  were  matters  of  exper.ence;  they  used 
their  senses  to  obtain  their  knowledge;  and  by  behevmg  them, 
you  also  use  their  senses  instead  of  >  our  own,  to  gain  the  same 
knowledge.  If  they  are  honest  and  true  men.  I  say  you  may 
know  even  to  absolute  certainty,  many  thmgs  which  you  have 

not  experienced.  i  t      u      isj 

But  it  is  not  so  with  respect  to  things  beyond  death,  r\o  one 
that  you  ever  saw  die  was  able  after  death  to  give  you  any  ac- 
count of  things  which  he  saw  and  felt.  You  see  nothn^g  but 
the  dead  body,  and  vou  hear  no  voice.  You  know  nothing  of 
what  he  has  experienced— you  cannot  gain  any  knowledge 
through  his  sen?es.  j-    i  • 

Neither  can  th-  se  persons  who  have  been  drowned,  or  died  m 
any  other  way,  and  been  brought  to  life  by  the  skill  of  the  physi- 
cians, give  any  satisfactory  account  of  what  they  saw  or  heard 
while  they  were  dead,  or  at  least  appeared  to  be  dead.  .  JNo, 
nor  even  those  who  have  been  known  to  be  dead,  and  were  mi- 
raculously raised  from  the  dead  by  our  Saviour,  gave  any  ac- 
count ot  what  they  had  learned  and  ex|)Crienced  while  dead. 
Lazarus,  whom  hundreds  knew  to  be  dead,  aud  who  lay  four 
■  days  in  the  grave,  and  was  raised  from  the  dead  by  the  almighty 
power  of  Jesus  Chriist,  gave  no  account  of  things  beyond  death. 
There  is  no  record  of  his  telling  his  friends  any  thing  about  even 
the  first  step  which  he  took  after  the  breath  left  his  body,  nor  arigf. 
discoveries  that  ke  made  while  his  body  lay  in  the  grave. 


3S  CONSOLATIOIN-S  OF 

No,  my  dear  friend,  neither  did  Christ  himself,  after  he  rose 
from  the  dead,  give  any  iiiformtition  concerning  those  things 
vvhich  he  saw  and  felt  and  experienced  while  dead.  He  raised 
thern  from  the  dead,  and  rose  himself,  not  onlv  to  show  his  own 
power,  hut  to  prove  to  mankind  the  great  doctrine  of  the  resur- 
rection of  the  body.  To  show  them  the  possibility  of  a  human 
body's  being  brought  to  life  after  it  was  totally  dead.  He  did 
^this  to  "become  ihe  first  fruits  of  them  that  slept,"  and  to  con- 
vince mankind  that  he  would  actually  bring  about  the  general 
resurrection  of  ail  men  as  he  taught.  He  did  not  do  it  to  make 
any  new  experimental  discoveries  with  a  view  of  communica- 
ting them  to  the  human  family.  We  cannot  doubt  for  a  mo- 
ment, whether  it  was  in  the  power  of  the  divine  Saviour  to  make 
such  communications  if  he  had  thought  best;  and  we  may  na- 
turally and  reasonably  suppose  that  all  those  who  were  raised 
from  the  dead  would  have  done  it  had  they  been  able,  and  God 
had  permitted  them. 

Certainly  they  would  have  taken  great  pleasure  in  telling 
their  friends  and  relations  what  they  might  expect  immediately 
after  death.  Their  pleasure  would  have  been  exceedingly  great 
to  have  brought  up  some  news  from  the  dead.  This  is  greatly 
desired  by  mankind,  and  if  it  had  been  in  their  power,  they 
would  have  rejoiced  in  ecstacies  to  have  communicated  it  to 
them.  You  are  not  to  suppose  that  they  neither  saw,  nor  felt, 
nor  experienced  any  thing  in  their  souls  while  their  bodies  were 
dead.  As  T  have  already  said,  *'God  is  not  the  God  of  the 
dead,  but  of  the  living."  Though  they  were  dead  in  their  bodies, 
yet  their  souls  were  alive.  And  if  they  were  alive,  they  had 
feelings — they  had  knowledge — otherwise  they  could  not  have 
been  alive.  But  these  feelings  and  this  knowledge  were  en- 
tirely new,  and  could  not  be  expressed  or  communicated  by 
them,  when  raised  to  life,  in  the  manner  in  which  knowledge 
and  feelings  are  communicated  by  men  in  this  present  state  of 
existence.  Thus  it  was  impossible  for  them  to  make  known 
any  thing  about  the  state  of  the  dead.  In  like  manner  ih-fse 
who  in  "visions  and  revelations  of  the  Lord,"  have  se«n  the 
realities  of  the  invisible  world,  have  been  unable  or  forbidden 
to  tell  or  communicate  what  they  saw.  The  apostle  sa\s,  '^  I 
knew  a  man  in  Christ how  that  he  was  caught  up  in^o  para- 
dise, and  heard  unspeakable  words,  which  it  is  not  lawful  for  a 
man  to  utter." 

I  do  not  say  that  God  could  not  have  enabled  them  to  have 
done  it  even  through  their  ordinary  senses,  and  nr.de  it  iawfjl; 
but  oru^  thing  is  certv^iii,  that  he  did  not.  Ho  his  not  chosen 
this  way  to  give  us  any  knowledge  of  ths  invisible  world.    But 


THE     AFFLICTEW.  39 

this  is  the  way  in  whir-h  we  most  naturally  and  most  strongly 
desire  to  have  it.  Nevertheless,  it  h  :S  not  been  thought  best 
by  him  to  gratify,  us.  Christ,  who  was  dead,  but  rose  again, 
and  iir  alive  for  ever  more,  and  had  all  power,  could,  if  he  had 
thought  best,  have  told  mr^nkind  what  he  saw  nnd  felt  whi'e  ia 
the  state  of  the  dead;  but  he  did  not  do  it.  This  is  not  God's 
way.  In  his  righteoiis  sovereignty  he  determined  that  no  one 
sh'iuld  see  and  leel  for  us  and  report  unto  »;s  thmgs  beyond 
death.  He  was  res;)lve<i  Jhiit  we  shnild  take  his  bare  word  for 
it,  or  know  nothing  about  it,  tiil  we  should  dit^,  and  go  and  see, 
and  fee!,  for  ourselves,  'h"  things  which  are  to  beseenand  feit  in 
the  invisible  world  His  w<ucl  he  consirlered  enough;  nil  that 
was  necessary;  and  certainly  lie  was  ^ho  best  judge.  This  he 
has  graciously  given  us.  lie  has  spoken  unto  mm  by  crea- 
tion. Creation  has  e\er  spoken  loth  to  his  e}  e  and  his  ear;  but 
her  voice  vvns  weak  and  faint — rha  light  of  nature  was  dim. 

Neverthetheiess,  it  faintly  de<-lared  and  showed  man  to  be 
immortal.  This,  however,  is  far  from  being  all  the  voire  that 
Gjd  has  used.  He  h.i>h  not  only  ''at  suidry  times,  and 
in  divers  manners,  spoken  in  times  past  unto  the  fathers  by 
the  proi'hets,  buJ  ba.h  in  these  last  days  spoken  unto  us  by  his 
S.»n.'"  His  very  Soji,  -'our  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  hath  appeared 
and  brought  life  and  immmortality  to  lis^hi  through  ibe  gospel  " 
Ht;  hath  pbsin.y  spoken  and  declared  the  great  truth  that  there 
is  another  world,  into  which  :he  spirits  of  men  wili  enter  at  the 
m-  ment  they  leave  thf^r  boflies  To  the  thief  expiring  on  the 
cr'ss,  he  s.  id — "this  night  shalt  thou  be  vvi  h  me  in  paradise." 
He  and  his  servants  even  taught  that  in  the  invisible  world 
there  was  a  paradise  for  the  ri-hteuiis,  and  a  prison  for  the 
wicked.  The  common  name  for  the  one  is  heaven;  that  foj- 
the  other  is  hell. 

Heaveii  is  represented  in  many  different  ways,  and  by  vari- 
ous com[>arisons,  to  be  a  place  of  perfect  hap})iness.  In  no 
fewer  ways  and  by  various  comparisons,  is  he, I  described  to  be, 
a  doleful  prison  of  endless  wo  and  misery.  The  doctiiue  of  the 
resurrection  of  the  body  ai'id  reunion  of  the  soul  and  body  in  the 
invisible  world,  is  fully  taut.ht.  About  the  manner  of  these, 
God  has  spoken  nothing.  He  has  only  said,  but  very  plainly 
said,  that  heaven  is  a  h-tppy  place— hell  a  place  of  misery. — 
That  at  the  general  resurrection  the  constituent  part?  of  men 
would  be  brought  together;  so  that  they  would  again  be  com- 
plete, having  souls  and  bodies,  every  faculty  of  the  souls  of  the 
righteous  being  advanced  to  perfection;  and  their  bodies  being 
fa.^hioned  like  unto  the  glorious  body  of  Christ.  Then  at  the 
general  judgment,  it  is  said  of  the  wicked — "these  shall  go 


^  #OW«»f>LATION3   d» 

awav  in^n  eveHi3*inqf  p  J!  isl^  a  '  1- :  '-iit  the  rirrh^eons  into  !if^ 
et  ra  .'"  Tiiis  -reioril  >l-rs:;ri.>*i  mi  of  iho  invisi  !>;  wopsd, 
yf\Y'  \\  yoisrsi-ul  will  eriter  imn[}e''i«te.'y  af  «r  deaih,  is  all  that 
it  his  pu'i^er]  G  i>i  to  yi-e  to  p^or  d  ing  men  P-M-haps  all 
th  *  hn  could  ijive  the:rj  i:?  th  ir  present  gross  state  (fexisseoce, 
bf^in^  SI  v.^ry  nr\ch  e.vib  ><lied  in  rnauei-is  <hey  are,  and  know- 
ing so  little  as  thsy  do  a.b«»ut  pnre  -AnfS  disembodied  s;!i»its. 

When  men  nre  not  sn,*isfi**d  with  ,his,  and  d  not  believe  and 
em 5  race  wh^it  G  d  hMt*  sp  .ken  cr»nceroing  the  invisibie  world, 
without  wanting"  to  know  more,  or  to  know  it  in  a  different  way, 
they  must  be  satii^fied  to  know  nothing  alout  it.  Like  other 
m-  \.  they  may  see  aM  the  way  to  de.th,  but  not  a  step  beyond. 
Rc'jc'itino;  what  G<*d  hi^s  spoken,  they  do  not  even  know  that 
there  is  an  invii^itsle  worSd,  a  heitv^n,  and  a  hell. 

But  all  those  who  believe  and  embrace  whnt  he  has  spoken, 
can  see  bey,nd  deaih — know  certaitilv  ih-it  there  is  a  heaven 
,aud  a  hell;  and  that  if  they  are  ri:jhteous,  like  tiie  believing  thief, 
th:!V  will  immediately  a'ter  death  tlv  away  and  enter  paradise. 

Certain! V,  it  is  eno.igh  f">r  the  ri^jhteous  to  know  th\f  heaven 
is  a  pince  of  perfect  happiness,  being  content  to  knriw  no.hing 
about  the  parTicu'ars.  As  f  .r  the  wicked,  they  doult  and  de';y 
what  God  has  spoken  of  >he  invisible  worid.and  ciin  know  noth- 
ing about  it,  till  they  go  and  see,  arid  feel  for  ihemselves. 

But  you  are  a  christian.  Ya'U  believe  what  God  hns  sp^-ken 
concerning  ihe  unseen  world.  You  be-ieve  th^-re  is  a  hell,  and 
that  you  was  a  sinner,  and  you  feit,  and  still  feel,  j.s  if  you  de- 
served to  be  sent  to  that  doleful  place  of  punishment.  But 
through  the  ainazing  m«rcy  of  G  >d,  Christ  came  to  deliver  men 
from  sill  and  «ave  ihem  fr  m  fcoing  d«*wn  to  hell.  "He  that 
believerh  shall  be  saved:—  he  'hat  betievcth  noc  shall  be  damn- 
ed." He  that  believeth  ihis  is  riglneous — he  that  beiievelh  it 
not  is  wicked;  and  we  have  already  told  you  to  what  p'ace  the 
riiihieous  go,  and  to  what  the  ^^icked.  You  do  huuibly  trust, 
that  throuv^h  ihe  tender  mercy  of  God  in  Christ,  you  have,  hy 
the  powerfvil  influence  of  the  H  >lv  Spirit,  believed  that  C'hrist 
came  to  deliver  men  from  sin  and  save  them  from  going  down 
to  hell — yea,  even  to  deliver  and  save  you.  You  very  humidy 
but  confidently  believe,  *'  th:.t  he  was  made  sin  for  ycu,  that 
you  might  be  made  the  righteousness  of  God  in  him."  That 
he  died  Ibr  you  and  has  delivered  your  soul  from  all  its  guilt 
and  pollutions,  and  made  you  a  righteows  person  in  the  sight  of 
God.  That  he  has  pardonded  all  \0!ir  sins  and  ieft  not  a  sin- 
gle charge  against  you.  That  'he  great  Comforter,  who  is  al- 
so the  great  Sau'tifier,  has  done  his  part  for  you,  in  executing 
the  plan  of  salvation,  and  has  sauctitied  your  heart,  cieaiibcU  it 


THE   AFFLICTED.  41 

of  things  impure,  made  j^ou  holy,  and  sealed  you  an  licir  of  hea- 
ven. You  feel  yourself  to  be  so,  and  ascribe  it  all  to  the  meicy 
ot  God  in  Christ.  You  feel  yourself  an  entire  debtor  to  the 
rich  and  saving  grace  of  the  God  of  love  and  pity.  ^     • 

"Though  you  have  this  confidence  that  you  are  now  righteous, 
and  whether  present  in  the  body  or  absent  from  it,  wili  be  ac- 
cepted of  God;  yet  you  were  not  always  so,  and  you  have  l-een 
deeply  sorry  that  you  were  once  altogether  unrighteous.  Y  -ur 
lieart  has  been  repeatedly  moved  and  melted  with  ''that  Godly 
sorrow  for  sin,  which  worketh  repentance  unto  life,  not  again  to 
be  repented  of."  In  short,  you  are  a  christian.  You  are  a 
new  creature.  ''Old  things  are  passed  away — all  thintis  are 
become  new."  Your  heart  has  been  emptied  of  all  unhoiv  pas- 
sions and  feelings,  and  filled  with  all  holy  affections  and  graces. 
You  have  not  iiow  to  begin  to  think  about  the  work  of  snlva- 
tion  in  this  hour  of  racking  pain  and  distress,  but  have  long  been 
engaged  in  it,  have  long  been  '*grov>ing  m  grace  and  in  the 
knowledge  of  your  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,"  till  you 
have  arrived,  (as  you  humbly  trust,)  to  some  degree  of  mctu- 
rity  in  the  divine    life  and  in  conformity  to  the  image  of  God 

Thus,  through  the  amazing  and  unajccoumable  grace  of 
God,  you  feel  yourself  to  be  righteous  in  all  respects,  and  "made 
meet  for  the  inheritance  of  the  saiots  in  light."  But  it  is  only 
the  wicked  that  "go  away  into  everlasting  punisliment." 

What  need  have  you  then,  to  think  of  hell?  You  have  none. 
Not  the  slightest  thought  need  come  into  your  mind  about  "the 
worm  that  never  dies — the  unquenchable  fire — th3  everlasting 
fire  prepared  for  the  devil  and  his  angels."  If  you  think  of  it 
atall,you  may  think  of  it  only  as  a  place  of  indescribable  and  ev- 
erlasting punishment  for  the  wicked,  from  which  you  have  made 
your  escape.     You  have  escaped  "from  the  wrath  to  come." 

And  what  is  there  beyond  death,  my  dear  friend,  that  is  ter- 
ribly, but  hell?  Nothing — no,  not  even  the  shadow  of  any 
thing.  But  on  the  contrary,  all  that  is  desirable.  If  3  our 
character  is  really  such  as  you  profess,  and  I  have  described; 
if  you  have  indeed  escaped  from  sin  and  unrighteousness,  you 
need  fear  nothing  that  will  follow  after  death. 

Therefore,  if  it  be  the  will  of  God  to  remove  you  at  this  time 
into  the  invisible  world,  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not 
be  entirely  resigned  to  give  yourself  up.  The  great  change 
which  you  will  experience,  will  be  for  the  better,  and  not  for 
the  worse.  4bout  that  which  is  to  follow  you  are  satisfied  The 
momentous  and  ail-important  question  to  which  place  you  will 
belong  in  the  iavisibie  world,the  paradise  or  the  prison,is  settle^. 

4 


4'2  COXSOLATIONS   OP 

By  escaping  from  sin  and  unrighteousness,  you  escape  ^rom 
ihe  second  death,  which  is  eternal  death.  This  death,  is  infi- 
nitely more  terrible  than  the  first  death,  which  is  the  dissolu- 
tion of  nature.  The  dissolution  of  nature— the  death  of  the 
body — we  cannot  escape ,  no  matter  how  righteous  we  may  be. 
But  O,  my  dear  fellow  christian,  how  happy -is  it  for  us,  and 
how  our  hearts  ought  to  be  filled  and  overflow  with  gratitude 
to  God,  for  providing  a  way  by  which  we  can  be  saved  from 
eternal  death  in  hell!  This  is  that  death  which  is  terrible. — 
1  his  is  that  awful  thing  which  is  to  follow  the  death  of  the 
bodies  of  the  wicked,  which  causes  them  to  tremble  and  shud- 
der. And  well  they  may,  for  frightful  as  the  death  of  the  body 
is,  it  is  nothing  in  comparison  to  eternal  death.  This  has  in  it 
every  thing  that  is  awful.  Of  all  things  that  have  ever  been 
brought  to  the  view  of  man,  it  is  the  most  terrible.  We  all  know 
what  sufferings  are  in  this  life;  and  we  feel  them  to  be  great  be- 
fore we  come  to  die  the  first  death — the  death  of  the  body. — 
This  we  find  to  be  the  greatest  calamity  (as  I  have  said)  that 
befalls  human  nature  beneath  the  sun.  But  the  death  of  the 
body  is  only  the  more  full  introduction  to  eternal  death.  Eter- 
nal death  is  the  great  evil  of  evils,  the  infinite,  endless,  and  in- 
describable calamity  which  IS  to  come  upon  the  wicked. 

But  Christ  hath  appeared  and  by  his  own  peculiar,  infinite, 
und  unknown  sufferings  and  death,  has  more  than  equalled,  and 
has  actually  abolished  eternal  death  for  all  who  will  believe 
in  him.  This  you  humbly  trust  you  have  done.  Therefore,  you 
feel  3'ourself  delivered  from  this  unequalled,  this  greatest  of  all 
calamities,  from  hell  and  the  death  that  never  dies .  Therefore 
I  repeat  it,  if  it  be  the  will  of  God  that  your  body  should  die 
^t  this  time,  there  can  be  no  reason  why  you  should  not  be  en- 
tirely resigned  to  his  holy  will.  God  is  a  great  Creator  and  a 
great  King;  he  has  many  worlds,  some  smaller,  some  greater. 
The  earth  is  one.  You  now  find  yourself  here  upon  the  earth, 
and  like  the  rest  of  your  fellow  beings,  passing  through  to  an- 
other of  the  worlds  of  the  great  King.  All  that  are  alive,  the 
whole  family  of  man,  are  moving  onwards  in  the  same  march. 
Such  are  the  arrangements,  such  is  the  plan  of  the  great  King. 
Human  beings  are  to  begin  and  pass  through  the  first  stage  of 
their  existence  here,  then  move  on  to  another.  Believing  and 
feeling  yourself  to  be  immortal,  that  you  have  commenced  an 
existence  that  will  never  end,  and  taking  this  extended  view  of 
the  march  of  man,  and  knowing  that  neither  you  nor  an\  other 
can  be  exempted  from  this  march— 1  am  persuaded  that  from 
this,  and  the  various  other  considerations  which  I  have  men 
ioned,you  wi  11  be  unreservedly  resigned  to  die. 


THE     AFPiitCTED.  4'^ 

To  the  infidel,  life  and  immortality  are  not  brought  to  light. 
He  does  uot  know  nur  believe  with  any  certainty,  that  he  has 
commenced  an  existence  that  will  never  end,  and  that  he  is 
movint'  on  from  stage,  to  stage,  according  to  the  plan  of  (he 
great  King.  He  believes  as  far  as  he  ran  see,  and  he  sees  that 
k  is  the  aiTanoement  and  plan  of  God  for  all  men  to  die. 

From  this  consideration,  many  of  them  reconcile  themselves 
to  meet  death  They  determine  not  Cb  look  <.ne  step  beyond. 
With  regard  to  the  future,  they  blind  and  stupify  themselves, 
blunt  their  feelings,  harden  their  hearts,  and  iull  their  con- 
sciences to  sleep,  and  if  God  leaves  them  to  themselves  and  does 
not  wake  them  up  and  frighten  them  by  bringing  to  their  view 
the  terrors  of  eternal  judgment,  they  die  as  composed  as  ihe 
christian,  step  ofl'  into  profound  darkness,  and  pass  on  till  iu 
hell  they  wake  and  "lift  up  their  eye§,  being  in  torments.*'— 
But  perhaps,  far  the  larger  part  die  in  so  much  horror  as  to 
terrify  all  about  them. 

Not  so  with  you ;  you  steadily  and  firmly  believe  that  the 
great  King  has  indeed  many  worlds;  that  you  have  onl\  com- 
menced vour  existence  here  m  quite  an  inferior  condition,  un- 
dei  many  disadvantages  and  d]i>iculties,  and  that  at  death  you 
will  be  advanced  to  a  mi»re  exalted  and  hanpy  state. 

You  believe  that  the  great  King  governs  ail  bis  worlds,  the 
whole  universe,  by  one  connected  and  unbroken  plan,  and  that 
it  is  a  part  of  his  exten/led  and  stupendous  plan  to  reedem  and 
save,  Ihrougli  Jesus  Christ,  a  rriysteriosis  but  real  Saviour,  all 
those  from  among  men  that  believe  in  him  and  seek  salvation 
through  him. 

In  developing  this  part  of  hJ3  plan  to  men  he  has  not  only 
brought  life  and  immortality  to  light  for  those  that  will  believe, 
but  for  their  encouragement  has  made  known  unto  them  the  ex- 
istence of  another  and  higher  order  of  beings,  called  angels.  It 
is  generally  thought  that.all  his  worlds  are  inhabited ;  but  this  is 
not  certainly  known.  The  christian,  however,  certainly  knows 
that  there  are  angels  in  heaven,  mighty,  and  holy,  and  happy 
spirits,  superior  to  man.  He  is  informed  that  at  death  he  will 
be  admitted  into  their  happy  society.  These  pleasing  truths 
the  infidel  does  nr>t  embrace,  biit  reject.-;.  And  perhaps  like  a 
•■  Sadducee,  believes  that  there  is  neith(;r  angel,  nor  spirit,  nor 
resurrection  of  ilie  dead."  Therefore,  when  you  view  the 
march  of  man,  you  follow  him  not  merely  to  the  cold  and  silent 
grave,  but  throughout  the  endless  ages  of  eternity.  \ou  are 
favored  with  a  further  development  of  the  plan  of  the  grea! 
King  than  the  infidel.  He  sees  only  that  part  of  his  plan  whicl: 
r'^anho^  tho  ^h^''X  di-'tnnro  r.^  roan's  mnr^b.  noon  th^  eartb  - 


44  CONSOLATIONS   OF 

Vou  see  that  inarch  in  its  whole  course  through  never,  ending 
duration.  If  it  is  possible  for  the  infidel  to  be  reconciled  and 
resigned  to  die,  from  his  limited  view  of  the  plan  of  the  great 
King,  how  much  more  possible  is  it  for  you?  Before  him,  when 
dying,  there  is  no  light^at  all,  not  a  single  ray  —but  thick  and 
impenetrable  darkness.  You  may  see,  not  with  your  common 
eyes,  but  with  the  eye  of  faith,  not  only  the  vast  and  glorious 
paradise  of  the  great  King,  but  all  the  saints  and  angels  that 
dwell  there. 
The  doleful  prison  with  its  glooms,  and  horrors,  and  woes,  and 
Aveeping,  and  wailing,  and  gnashing  of  teeth,  is  not  before 
you;  but  the  blooming  heavenly  paradise  with  all  its  fragrant 
trees,  "and  the  tree  of  life,  which  is  in  the  midst,  and  its  rivers 
of  pleasure  which  flow  for  eveVmore."  This  paradise  is  heaven, 
that  glorious  and  happy  resting  place  which  God  has  prepared 
for  weeping  weary  pilgrims.  Into  this  paradise  you  may  as  con- 
fidently and  certamly  expect  to  step,  the  moment  your  body  is 
dead,  as  you  ever  expected  any  thing  which  depended  upon  the 
truth  and  veracity  and  power  of  God.  Though  your  pains  and 
sorrows  are  at  this  time  very  distressing,  and  you  are  truly  in 
crreat  tribulation,  yet  you  feel  as  if  you  had  "wa?hed  your  robes 
and  made  them  white  in  tHe  blood  of  the  Lamb."  Therefore,  im- 
mediaJely  after  death,  you  will  be  ^'before  the  throne  of  God, 
and  serve  him  day  and  night  in  his  temple:  and  he  that  sitteth 
on  the  throne,  shall  dwell  with  you.  You  shall  hunger  no 
more,  neither  thirst  any  more:  neither  shall  the  sun  light  on 
you,  nor  any  heat.  For  the  Lamb  which  is  in  the  midst  of  tho 
throne,  shall  feed  you,  and  shall  lead  you  unto  living  tbuntains 
of  waters:  and  God  shall  wipe  awa-y  all  tears  from  your  eyes; 
and,  for  vou,  there  shall  be  no  more  death,  neither  sorrow,  nor 
(drying,  neither  shall  there  be  anymore  pain:  for  the  former 
things  will  then  all  be  passed  away  " 

"O,  the  transporting  rapturous  scene  that  rises  to  your  sight, 
Sweet  fields  arrayed  in  living  green  and  rivers  of  delight." 

Paradise!  paradise!  with  ah  its  fruits  au()  tlo.wers,  hs  waving 
trees,  its  hills,  and  plains,  and  rivers  of  pleasure^  gently  flow- 
ing forever  more.  O,  my  dear  christian,  let  your  faiii  be 
strong,  and  look  away  to  this  blissfulplace! 

See  the  happy  saints  and  angels,  wandering  in  every  direc- 
tion, plucking  delicious  fruits  from  every  blissful  bough— de- 
lightino-  themselves  under  the  arbors,  among  the  flowcr3,throngh 
the  groves,  over  the  hills,  down  the  /alleys,  acrc^s  the  plains, 
and  by  <he  gentle,  winding  waters'  side. 

In  the  midst,  is  the  city  of  the  great  King,  the  grand  metrop- 
olis of  ail  his  worlds  -his  mansions,  in  which  some  are  reposmg 
his  palace,  "and  his  throne,  high  and  lifted  up."     Behold  them 


THE     AFFLICTED.  45 

eoilecting  together  from  all  parts,  gathering  in  through  all  the 
o-olden  streets,  coming  forth  from  ail  their  shining  mansions, 
and  in  one  general  assembly  surrounding  the  throne  of  the  great 
Jehovah  to  worship  before  his  Majesty  I  Glorious  and  happy 
assembly!  men  and  angels  innumerable,  that  no  tongue  can 
number,"  all  bound  together  by  the  sweetest,  strongest  cords  of 
love,  yea,  filled  with  love  and  unspeakable  bliss!  See  Abraham 
and  Isaac  and  Jacob  there,  and  all  the  ransomed  from  among 
men,  "the  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect."  Perfect  in  every 
thing  that  is  good  and  excellent.  Perfect  in  knowledge.  All 
that  ignorance  which  once  filled  their  minds,  surrounded  them 
and  beclouded  their  sight,  is  fled  away.  They  no  longer  "look 
through  a  glass  darkly."  All  heaven  is  open  to  their  view,  with 
its  iaeffabFe  and  transporting  glories.  They  not  only  behold, 
but  are  among  the  holy  angels  who  have  always  been  faithful 
and  true;  they  see  God. 

They  are  perfect  in  wisdom,  unerringly  wise  to  shun  all 
evil,  and  infallibly  to  choose  the  greatest  good.  They  are  per- 
feet  in  holiness,  a  glorious  company,  or  "  church,  not  having 
spot,  or  \Trrinkle,  or  any  such  thing,  holy  and  without  blemish.'' 
All  pure  within,  every  particle  of  sin  and  corruption  being  re- 
moved. They  are  now  the  sons  of  light,  the  sons  of  God,  ad- 
mitted into  his  kingdom  of  glory,  clothed  with  white  robes,  hav- 
ing palms  in  their  hands,  crowned  with  starry",  glittering,  incor- 
ruptible crowns.  Thus  arrayed  in  heavenly  attire,  they  are  fit 
to  appear  before  the  great  King,  to  approach  near  their  almighty 
Father's  person.  They  are  perfect  in  strength — all  their  weak- 
ness is  left  behind.  They  have  put  on  immortal  youth  and 
vigor,  and  never  failing  strength. 

O,  my  dear  christian,  observe!  You  see  no  weakly  one,  no 
pale  countenance  nor  crippled  frame;  none  blind,  none  deaf, 
none  dumb,  none  lame,  no  diseased  person  in  all  that  vast  ex- 
tended host !  There  are  no  beds  of  sickness  there,  like  this  on 
which  you  lie,  and  toas,  and  groan.  No  scorching  fevers,  nor 
wracking  pain,  nor  fatal  disorder  preying  upon  their  vitals,  nor 
any  sj^mptom  of  death.  From  all  these  they  are  delivered;  over 
them  and  all  enemies,  they  rejoice  and  triumph  in  eternal  safety. 
They  are  perfect  in  happiness.  All  that  v/hich  was  promised 
on  earth,  they  now  enjoy. 

That  which,  while  here,  their  eye  had  not  seen,  nor  their  ear 
heard,  neither  had  entered  into  their  hearts — their  eye  now  sees, 
their  ear  hears,  and  fulness  of  joy  enters  iqto  their  hearts,  from 
the  inexhaustable  fulness  of  the  eternal  and  unchaugable  God- 
head. And  to  crown  the  whole,  they  are  secured  and  confirmed 

4* 


iO  CONSOLATIONS  OF 

in  this  happy  state  for  ever  and  ever,  by  the  truth  and  power  of 
Him,  before  v^^hose  throne,  they  adoring  stand. 

It  the  spirits  of  redeemed  sinners  are  made  thus  perfect,  and 
happy,  and  glorious,  what  must  the  angels  be  who  never  sin- 
ned? They  are  the  morning  stars  which  sang  together,  they 
are  the  sons  of  God,,  that  shouted  for  joy  when  he  laid  the  foun- 
dation of  the  earth.  Each  one  shines  like  a  star,  brilliant  and 
glorious;  each  one  is  a  son  of  God,  of  higher  grade  than 
the  spirits  of  just  men  mada  perfect.  Cast  your  eye  over 
the  countless  host  of  these  heaven  born  sons  of  tl>e  Deity,  who 
shine  with  such  surpassing  lustre  that  they  are  called  stars. — 
See  with  what  superior  loftiness,  glory  and  dignity,  they  stand, 
about  to  worship  the  eternal  Jehovah  I  They  are  arrayed  in  or- 
naments, according  to  their  rank  and  dignity ;  observe  their 
flowing  robes  of  spotless  white,  of  heavenly  texture,  and  heav- 
enly glory,  such  as  become  high,  and  holy,and  mighty  and  hap- 
py angels  to  v/ear. 

See  the  starry,  dazzling,  angelic  crowns,  which  rest  upon  their 
lofty  heads.  And  that  you  may  be  elated  and  enraptured  with 
the  view,  continue  your  gaze  till  the  whole  assembly,  <'this  in- 
numerable company  of  angels,  together  with  the  church  of  the 
first-born  among  men  which  are  written  in  heaven,"  perform 
One  united  act  of  heavenly  worship.  They  are  in  the  midst  of 
the  oity  of  the  living  God,  the  heavenly  Jerusalem.  They  are 
come  unto  mount  Zion,  the  true  Zion  above,  on  whkhi  the  throne 
of  God  is  erected.  They  have  assembled  in  full  assembly,  round 
this  holy  hill,  and  awful  throne,  '<  to  offer  unto  God  thanksgiv* 
ing,  and  pay  their  vows  unto  the  Most  High."  Call  upon  thy 
soul  and  all  that  is  within  thee,  to  witness  the  exalted  worship 
of  those  innumerable  and  happy  spirits.  Behold  in  what  per- 
fect order  they  stand,  ready  to  move  in  exact  concert  and  speak 
as  with  the  voice  of  one. 

See  them  lift  their  crowns  from  their  heads,  all  at  the  very 
same  moment,  and  with  the  profoundest  reverence,  humility 
and  solemnity,  cast  them  down  "before  the  throne,  saying  Holy, 
holy,  holy  Lord  God  Almighty,  thou  art  worthy,  O  Lord,  to 
receive  glory,  and  honor,  and  power:  for  thou  hast  created  all 
things,  and  for  thy  '{pleasure  they  are  and  were  created  1"  "Bles- 
sing, and  honor,  and  glory,  and  power  be  unto  Him  that  sitteth 
upon  the  throne,  and  unto  the  Lamb,  for  ever  and  ever."  Lis- 
ten at  their  loud,  melodious,  harmonious  and  enrapturing  songs 
and  Alleuias  "  It  is  as  it  were,  the  voice  of  a  great  multitude, 
and  as  the  voice  of  many  waters,  and  the  voice  of  mighty  thun- 
dering saying  Alleuia:  for  the  Lord  God  omni^^Jtent  reigneth.' 
I^el  a^  be  glad  and    rejoice   and  give  honor  to  him.    Great 

'  J' 


THE    AFFLICtEJ>.  ^7 

aQcl  inafvellous  are  thy  works,  Lord  God  Almighty,  just  an^ 
true  are  thy  ways,  thou  King  of  saints." 

Behold  the  face  of  the  great  King,  shining  and  smiling  upOn 
them  with  divine  complacency  and  approbation,  while  he  freely 
and  abundantly  imparts  into  their  hearts,  all  blessings,  life  and 
peace,  and  fullness  of  love,  and  fullness  of  joy,  till  they  are  filJ- 
ed  with  all  good;  blessedness,  blessedness  complete,  unspeaka- 
ble, infinite!  O,  who  would  not  die?  what  christian  would  not 
die  and  go  and  bfr  among  them  there,  to  see  what  they  see,  to 
hear  what  they  hear,  to  feel  what  they  feel,  and  to  enjoy  what 
they  enjoy?  To  enjoy  "God,  the  fullness  of  him  who  filleth  alJ 
in  all."  Certainly,  my  dear  christian,  if  it  be  the  will  of  God 
that  you  should  die  at  this  time,  there  cannot  be  the  least  re- 
maining reluctance  in  your  heart;  there  cannot  be  one  singly 
tie  of  any  kind,  binding  you  to  this  world  of  sin  and  misery, 
which  you  would  not  be  reconciled  and  resigned  to  see  giving 
Tvay— yea,  which  you  would  not  be  willing,  and  even  rejoice  to 
see  snapped  asunder.  Firmly  believing,  with  an  apostle,  that  for 
you  to  die  would  be  gain,  yea,  infinite  gain.  So  that,  like  him,  you 
are  "willing  rather  to  be  absent  from  the  body,  and  to  be  pre- 
sent with  the  Lord,  having  a  desire  to  depart,  and  to  be  with 
Christ;  which  is  far  better."  If  you  feel  thus,  let  me  talk  to  yoa 
a  little  more  plainly  about  your  departure.  The  counsels  and  ap- 
pointments of  God  are  a  profound  deep.  It  is  altogether  unknown 
whether  you  are  to  depart  at  this  time  or  not.  If  you  should, 
death  is  represented  in  the  scriptures  to  be  a  great  monster, 
standing  in  a  dark  valley,  which  is  called  "  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death."  It  is  a  gloomy  valley,  overshadowed  with 
thick  shadows  and  filled  with  darkness.  As  I  have  already 
told  you,  there  is  no  light  admitted  into  this  dismal  valley  from 
any  direction  but  one;  and  that  is  from  heaven,  through  the 
channel  of  faith. 

No  light  will  enter  into  the  valley  behind  you  and  follow 
you.  You  will  see  none  upon  your  right  hand  or  upon  your 
left.  A  gleam  will  enter  from  the  farther  end  of  the  valley  and 
will  meet  you.  It  will  be  brighter  or  less  bright,  according 
to  the  strength  of  your  faith;  and  if  you  have  no  faith  at  all, 
there  will  be  no  light  at  all  from  that  source,  not  even  a  gleam. 
If  your  faith  be  strong,  that  gleata  will  be  bright  enough  to 
lead  you  straight  on,  so  that  you  will  not  stumble  nor  step  out 
of  the  way  to  the  right  or  left.  But  the  grim  monster  stands 
in  the  way,  and  you  will  have  to  meet  him. 

What  is  more,  you  will  not  only  have  to  enter  the  valley 
alone,  without  a  visible  friend,  but  unattended  by  such  you  will 
be  compelled  to  meet  the  monster.    Your  dear,  and  tender,  aad. 


-48  CONSOLATIONS    OF 

lafFectionate  felations  and  friends,  may  attend  you  down  to  the 
head  of  the  valley.  But  there  they  must  stop.  However,  de- 
sirous they  may  he  to  accompany  you  on  still,  to  aid  and  com- 
Ibrt  you,  there  they  must  stop.  Indeed,  instead  of  aiding  you, 
they  may  be  an  injury  to  you,  in  expressing  and  showmg  their 
reluctance  in  giving  you  up  and  parting  from  you.  Though 
you  are  perfectly  resigned  to  die,  and  leave  the  world,  and  see 
and  feel  all  your  tenderest  ties  to  them  broken,  yet  it  may  dis- 
tress you  to  see  their  hearts  wrung  with  sorrow  and  broken 
with  griet  at  the  painful  separation.  Very  likely  in  this  situa- 
tion you  will  have  to  enter  the  gloomy  valley.  So  soon  as  you 
shall  have  parted  from  them  and  entered  in,  you  will  proceed 
on,  though  not  unattended,  not  alone.  Oh  no  my  dear  christian, 
not  alone !  Thougli  you  shall  have  left  all  visible  friends  be- 
hind, yet  you  will  be  attended  by  a  great  invisible  friend,  bet- 
ter than  all  others  beside;  so  that  you  need  not  fear. 

What  said  one  of  old,  when  speaking  of  the  goodness  of  God? 
''Yea,  though  1  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death, 
r  will  fear  no  evil,  for  thou  art  with  me;  thy  rod  and  thy  staff 
they  comfort  me."  Great  is  the  goodness  of  God  and  amazing 
his  condescension.  He  knows  your  weakness  and  will  conde- 
scend to  be  with  you,  and' go  with  you  through  this  dismal  val- 
ley. Yea  more,  he  will  walk  by  your  side,  and  even  lend  you 
his  staff  for  you  to  walk  with,  to  support  and  comfort  you. — 
Though  you  have  to  meet  the  grim  monster  himself,  and  fall 
a  prey  to  him,  you  need  fear  no  evil.  As  you  approach  him, 
you  will  do  well  to  remember  that  he  is  robbed  of  his  sting. — 
His  only  weapon  with  which  he  could  oistress,  and  mangle 
and  torture,  and  eternally  distroy  his  prey,  was  his  sting.  This 
Christ  has  plucked  from  him,  so  that  he  cannot  use  it  against 
those  who  believe  in  Christ.  This  poisonous  and  deadly  sting 
was  sin.  Though  he  is  not  allowed  to  use  his  sting  against  the 
righteous,  against  true  Christians,  yet  he  has  power  without  it 
to  conquer  them.  But  you  will  have  this  consolation.  Not 
every  one  that  is  overcome  and  conquered  is  destroyed.  War- 
riors sometimes  surrender  and  become  captives  to  the  enemy 
with  the  hope  that  the  conquerors  will  spare  their  lives,  so  that 
they  may  again  be  restored  to  their  government.  This  the  vic- 
tors may  not  do,  buf  maycut  them  off,  so  that  the  time  will 
never  come  when  their  government  ".vill  againhave  their  servi- 
ces Death  is  not  such  an  enemy ;  he  has  not  such  power.  Over 
your  soul  he  has  no  power  at  all ;  it  is  your  body  only  that  must 
ifall  a  prey  to  him,and  this  he  cannot  destroy  ,he  can  only  keep  it 
a  captive  till  the  time  appointed  by  God,  and  then  he  ^yill  be 
compelled  to  deliver  it  up.    Then  your  body  itself— this  cor- 


THE    AFFLICTED.  40 

I'Llptible  shall  put  on  incorruption,  and  this  mortal  shall  put 
on  immortality.  Then  shall  be  brought  to  puss  the  saying  that 
13  written,  "  Death  is  swallowed  up  in  victory.'"  Then  you  will 
be  able  to  rejoice  and  exult,  and  triumph  and  exclaim — "O 
death  where  is  thy  sting?  O  grave  where  is  thy  victory?"  but 
never  till  then.  At  this  time  you  will  have  to  surrender  and 
temainhis  captive  until  that  appointed  day— that  great  and 
signal  day  of  the  general  resurrection  of  the  bodies  of  all  men. 
Though  God  accompanies  you  and  walks  by  your  side  in  this 
dark  valley,  and  right  on  to  the  monster  himself,  yet  you  arc 
not  to  expect  him  to  interfere.  It  is  his  design  and  purpose  to 
permit  him  to  conquer  you.  All  God  will  do  will  be  to  encour- 
age and  support  you  to  believe  what  I  have  stated  to  you. — 
That  is,  that  your  soul  will  not  be  injured  by  the  monster,  and 
immediataly  after  the  conflict  will  enter  Paradise;  and  that 
your  body  will  only  be  captivated  and  held  in  captivity  for  a 
time.  He  will  keep  you  from  fearing  that  the  monster  will 
swallow  you  up  in  victory  forever,  and  make  you  believe  that 
in  due  time  you  will  thus  swallov/  him  up.  Thus  you  wil^not 
be  suffered  to  sink  into  frightful  desperation.  s 

When  you  draw  nigh  ,to  him  and  certainly  know  that  you 
must  meet  him  in  a  moment  or  two,  it  witl  not  be  advisable  for 
you  to  make  an  onset  upon  him  and  attempt  to  measure  arms 
with  him  This  will  be  all  in  vain  and  do  you  no  good,  but  great 
injury.  Your  best  way  will  be  to  become  his  easy  prey  and 
disappoint  him  as  much  as  you  can.  Just  quietly  and  calmly 
surrender  yourself  up,  sink  under  his  monstrous  arms,  if  possi- 
ble, without  receiving  a  single  blow  or  having  the  least  strug- 
gle. So  soon  as  your  body  shall  be  clasped  in  the  cold  arms 
of  the  great  andinvincible,  and  insatiate  monster,  oefore  whom 
all  flesh  must  fall,  you  will  proceed  on  through  the  remaining 
part  of  the  valley  with  inconceivably  greater  rapidity.  Yon 
will  no  longer  need  a  staff  to  support  your  doubtful  and  mis- 
giving feet.  God  will  convey  yoa  onward,  not  upon  feet  but 
upon  wings.  You  will  be  delivered  from  the  burden  and  in- 
cumbrance of  your  body.  He  will  mount  you  up  on  the  wings 
of  spirit,  and  you  will  fly  "swift  as  an  arrow  cuts  the  air,"  yea, 
like  a  ray  of  light.  In  a  moment,  in  the  twmkling  of  an 
eye,  you  will  be  at  the  farther  end  of  the  valley.  The 
outlet  of  the  valley  is  also  the  inlet  into  heaven.  The 
gate  or  door  opens  into  heaven.  He  will  cause  it  to  fly 
open  by  the  touch  of  a  God,  and  bid  you  "enter  into  the 
joy  of  your  Lord."  You  will  spring  forth  out  of  the  valley 
of  darkness  into  a  world  of  light,  a  world  of  light,  of  life, 
of  glory;    of    honor    and    of  full    and    eternal    blessedness. 


OO  COI^SOLATIOJx'S  OP 

You  will  be  yourself  immediately  "transfigured/' and  will  he 
within  tl'.e  heavenly  paradise,  to  behold  with  30U1  own  e^res, 
with  open  fki  e,  its  ^'swee*  tields  arrayed  in  living  green  and 
rivers  of  delight,"  its  fragrant  trees  of  life  and  its  chr.rmmg 
flowers,  with  its  beautiful  rivers,  kc.  You  will  not,  however, 
delay  any  lengih  of  time  gazing  upon  these  inferior  delights, 
but  will  move  rapidly  on  into  the  interior,  into  the  mt  troj-olis 
of  the  grenf  King;  right  on  to  that  innumerable  compan}'  and 
as?embiy  of  uoi^hiping  angels  and  men,  to  which  1  have  en- 
doavoft'd  to  direct  your  acimirif'g  gaze.  Their  atientioa  nill 
be  turned  towards  you.  Every  eye  will  look  upon  you,  and 
every  countenance  will  smile  with  approbation  upon  the  new 
comer.  With  one  united  voice,  they  will  rejoice,  and  shout 
you  a  most-hearty  welcome  to  their  blissful  realm,  their  happy 
home.  When  you  arrive  among  them, you  will  be  most  likely 
first  to  meet  those  whom  >ou  knew  upon  earth.  They  will 
Kereive  you  into  their  joyful  arms  and  give  you  a  warm  and 
feeling  emt)iace,  such  as  spirits  know  and  have.  As  you  pass 
through  Iheir  host,  you  will  see  the  patriarchs,  prophets,  and 
apostles,  but  you  will  hurry  on  to  the  ^hrone  itself,  to  receive 
the  welcome  of  Jesus  your  Saviour  His  human  nature  will 
strongly  aitract  vuur  attention,  appearing  so  much  like  those 
beings  whom  you  have  heen  most  accustomed  'o  see. 

With  the  combined  glory  and  amiableness  of  God,  and  man, 
he  will  cause  his  face  to  shine  upon  you.  Yea,  he  will  even 
pronounce  upon  you  the  great  welcome  which  he  will  repeat 
at  the  day  of  judgment  upon  all  his  followers — *'Come  you  ran- 
somed of  mv  Father,  inherit  the  kingdom  prepared  for  you 
from  the  founOatii'n  of  the  world:'*  at  the  same  time  taking  you 
up  into  those  xevy  human  uvms  into  which  he  kindly  took  lit- 
tle children  and  blessed  them,  while  on  earth,  giving  you  a 
divine  embrace  and  pionounrtng  you  ble.ssed  for  ever,  God 
The  Father,  and  the  Holy  Spirit  will  rejoice  over  you.  All 
heaven  will  gnze  upon  (he  scene,  and  admire  and  rejoice, 
not  merely  over  a  repenting  smner,  but  over  a  sinner  saved, 
eternally  saved,  brought  home  t(*  heaven,  and  glory,  and  hap- 
piness. All  the  "  bells  of  the  city"  will  ring  you  a  loud  wel- 
come, and  every  voice  will  say,  Amen. 

You  will  not  be  overawed  m^r  overcome  but  will  be  support- 
ed to  receive  the  whole  with  composure,  and  with  joy  unspeak- 
able and  full  of  glory,"  You  will  indeed  feel  yourself  in  a 
new  world,  in  new  society,  receiving  new  treatment  and  hav- 
ing new  feelincTs.  You  will  feel  enlarged.  Your  heart  will 
be  filled,  yea,  will   be  ravished  with  joy  and  delight. 

Thus  rov  d^ar  christian;  1  have  talked  to  you  plainly  abouX 


THE  AFrLICTFJD.  4* 

death.  I  have  told  you  what  you  may  reasonably,  not  expect, 
and  what  you  may  expect  according  to  the  Scriptures.  In 
speaking  of  death  I  have  used  the  figure  of  a  vailey  which  the 
Scriptures  give  us.  Plain  as  my  talk  has  been,  I  feei  as  if  I 
could  not  leave  you  till  I  talked  still  plainer  to  you  on  the  sub- 
ject. I  wish  to  lay  aside  all  figures  and  converse  with  vou 
more  familiarly  and  more  clearly  concernmg  your  departure. 

The  scriptures  tell  us  to  -'mark  the  perfect  man,  and  behold 
the  upright:  for  the  end  of  that  man  is  peace."  But  they  give 
us  very  few  ex-imples  of  the  particular  manner  m  which  the 
perfect  and  upright  have  died.  They  tell  us  that  •'when  Jacob 
haft  made  an  end  of  commanding  his  sons,  he  gathered  up  his 
feet  mto  ihe  bed  and  yielded  up  the  giiost,  and  was  gathered  unto 
his  people."  ''When  Simeon  took  the  child  Je«us  into  hisaims^ 
he  sHid,nowLord  lettest  thou  thy  servant  depart  in  peace;"  but 
we  know  not  that  he  then  departed.  The  apostle  when  speak- 
ing 'f  Abel,  E  ioch,Noah,  At)raham,  and  the  other  ancient  be 
lievers,  says,  "the-^e  all  died  m  faith." 

Thus  we  are  told  in  a  general  way,  that  they  died  in  peace 
and  m  faith.  No  d  <ubt  they  had  peace  with  God  and  faith  in 
liim,  and  these  are  [)lainl}'  exhibited  in  the  case  of  Jacob.  He  ap- 
peared todie  with  composure  and  strng  faith  m  God.  But  what 
opportunity  had  Abel  to  exhibit  these?  He  died  a  sudden  and  vio- 
lent death  Perhapa  did  not  know  a  minute  before  hand  that 
he  was  then  to  die.  Without  a  miracl®  he  could  not  ha\e  ex- 
hibited just  at  the  time,  much  peace  or  faith.  Perhaps  he  was 
attacked  and  cut  00*80  suddenly,  that  all  he  thought  about  ar  -he 
moment  Was  to  defend  himself  Vet  he  was  in  a  stale  of  peace 
with  God  and  died  in  faith.  This  it  was  possiide  for  him  to  do  and 
his  faith  nut  be  in  lively,  peaceful  exercise,  owing  to  the  sudden 
and  j)ainful  circumTjtances  producing  his  death.  And  so  common 
a  thing  it  is  for  men  to  die  in  great  pain  and  distress,  that  God 
has  said  very  little  in  the  scriptures  about  the  immediate  circum- 
stances of  tlieir  death.  He  hath  told  us  ''that  the  wicked  is  drivea 
away  m  his  wickedness:  but  the  righteous  hath  hope  in  his 
d^aii."  The  righteous  hath  hope  in  his  death  whether  he 
dies  a  slow  calm  death,  or  is  cut  down  in  an  instai'tj  whether 
he  is  in  possession,  of  his  senses  or  is  deprived  of  them  — 
Though  he  may  not  feel  his  hope  to  glow  in  his  breast,  yei  he 
possesses  it.  It  is  true  God  has  given  us  a  verv  striking  exam- 
ple of  a  happy  dea'h  io  the  case  of  Stephen  the  first  martyr. — 
You  are  not  to  exi.ect.  however,  to  die  as  he  died.  Hi?  death 
was  not  only  uacom  nonly  happy,  but  was  miraculous.  Goi  ae- 
zi^ned  more  in  it  than  the  peace  and  satisfaction  of  his  oyiug 


5^  C0x\SOLAT10NS    OF 

servant.     He  was  "a  man  tull  of  faith  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
and   of  power,  and   did    great   wonders  and  miracles  among 
the  people.*"     Therefore  he  had  many  enemies  who  determin- 
ed   to   put    him  to  death  by  stoning.     S  .  furious    were  they 
that    Hhey  gnashed  on  him  with  their  teeth."  It  was  God's  pur- 
pose to  show  tt^ese  furious  men,  and  all  men,  in  al)  succeetling 
generations,  th^t  his  servants  could  not  only  die  bebeviiig  that 
there  was  an  invisible  world  and  that  they  would  be  happy  in 
it,  but  that  it  was  possible  foi'them  to  do  this  with  composure 
even  under  a  most  violent   ifhovver  of  stones.     Therefore,  he 
enabled  Stephen  to  die  as  he   did.     He   opened  the    henvens 
unto  him  and  enabled  him  to  be  perfectly  composed  while  the 
stones  were  lighting  upon  him  from  every  direction.     So  com- 
posed that  il  is  said     'he  fell  asleep  "      He  being  full   of  the 
Holy   Ghost,  looked   up  steadfastly  into  heaven,  and   saw    the 
glory  of  God,  and  Jesus  star^ding  on  the  right  hand  of  God,  and 
said  (to  his  furious  enemies)  Behold,  1  see  the  heavens  opened, 
and  the  son  of  man  standing  on  the  right  hand  of  God  "  They 
were  determined   not  to  believe  this.     Tberefofe, '-they  cried 
out  with  a  loud  voice,  and  stopped  their  ears  and  ran  upon  him 
with  one    accord,  and  stoneti  Stephen,  calling  upon  God,  aid 
saying  Lord  Jesus   receive  my  spirit..'"     Under  this  out-  ry  of 
theirs,  which   was  with  a  loud  voice,  and  under  their  shower  of 
stones,  he  kneeled  down  and  cried  also  with  a  loud  voice,so  as  to 
make  them    hear   him  in  the  midst  of  ihe  load   noise — "L  'id 
lay  not  this  sin  to  their  charge.     And  when  he  had  said  this  he 
fell  asleep." 

Thus  this  devout  and  holy  man,  when  his  eyes  were  closing 
in  de;ith,  literally  and  actually  saw  with  them  the  heavens 
opetied  and  the  glory  of  God,  and  committed  his  departing 
spirit  into  the  hands  of  Jesus  his  Lord.  But  this  was  miracu- 
lous, and  we  read  of  no  other  man  who  was  favoured  with  such 
a  ileath  You  are  by  no  means,  to  expect  to  depart  thus.  The 
heavens  will  not  be  opened  unto  you,  so  that  with  yo  ur  common 
eyes  you  can  see  ju^^t  before  you  close  them  the  glory  of 
God  and  Jesus,  and  in  this  way  commit  your  spirit  into  his 
hands.  As  I  have  said,  this  was  not  granted  to  patriarchs,  pro- 
phets or  apostles.  These  died  in  faith,  no  matter  by  what 
means  or  in  what  munupr.  But  we  are  orily  told  that  some  of 
them,  as  Jacob  and  perhaps  Simeon,  had  faith  in  lively  and 
peaceful  exercise  at  the  time  of  their  departure.  The  others 
may  not  have  been  even  this  much  favored.  We  hear  nothing 
of  miracles  at  their  deaths.  Many  of  them,  we  know  died  vio- 
lent deaths.     Several  of  the  apostles  were  crucified. 


THE   AFFLICTED. 


^ 


But  perhaps  1  speak  improperly  about  a  violent  death,  par- 
tif  ularly  such  a  one  as  by  crutixion.  There  is  one  gieat  cir- 
curastrtnce  in  which  person?  dying:  sucti  a  death  may  decidely 
have  the  advantage,  and  by  ^hich  they  will  be  more  likely  not 
only  to  po.-^spss  their  rio^ht  mind,  but  to  have  faith  and  hope 
in  lively  and  peaceful  exercise.  Thife  circuoastance  is  that  ihey 
are  not  enfeebled  in  their  bodies.  Their  bodies  are  the 
organs  through  which  their  souls  act  And  these  organs  being 
stroug.the  s  m\  may  act  freely  and  exhibit  itself  in  its  full  strength. 
They  may  meditate  and  think  upon  the  great  change  just  be- 
fore them  with  all  their  powers  of  soul  and  body.  They  are 
in  a  more  favorable  condition  to  have  believing  views  and 
cheering  hope,  than  those  who  are  reduced  in  their  bodies,  not 
merely  down  to  the  feebleness  and  helplessness  of  infants,  but 
oppressed  with  grievous  and  distressing  pains  and  sufferings. 

We  see  that  when  God  would  give  the  world  the  most  striking 
example  of  a  believing  and  triumphant  death,  so  much  so,  that 
he  would  work  a  miracle  to  complete  the  scene;  he  chose  Ste- 
phen, a  man  unbroken  by  disease,  his  body  possessing  all  its 
strength,  and  able  to  exhibit,  by  words  and  actions,  all  the  views 
and  feelings  of  his  mind.  Just  after  he  had  put  forth  the  most 
powerful  mental  and  bodily  exertions,  in  making  a  long  and  en- 
ergetic speech  to  his  enfuriated  enemies,  who  not  only  disputed 
with  him,  but  gnashed  on  him  with  their  teeth. 

This  God  did,  to  prove  to  the  world  in  a  miraculous  manner, 
by  an  exhibition  of  more  than  ordinary  fai'h  and  hope,  that 
man  can  die  believing  himself  to  be  immortal,  and  that  his  spi- 
rit will  not  die  atall,  but  may  be  committed  alive,  untouched 
by  death,  into  the  hands  of  Jesus. 

His  death  then  was  uncommon,  not  only  as  being  miraculous, 
but  in  that  he  died  in  his  full  strength.  It  is  not  common  for 
men  to  die  in  their  full  strength,  except  in  battle,  and  there 
they  are  not  apt  to  exhibit  much  faith.  Your  strength  is  in  a 
great  measure  already  taken  from  you,  and  if  you  die  by  this 
disease,  it  will  be  taken  away  more  and  more  until  you  become 
perfectly  feeble  and  die  in  weakness.  This  appears  to  be  the 
natural  way  for  man  to  die,  and  the  way  in  which  God  would 
have  him  to  die,  unsmitten  by  violence  from  others  or  by  vio- 
lence administered  by  his  own  hand  upon  himself.  This  being 
the  will  and  law  of  God,  you  need  not  be  surpiised  that  he  has 
given  us  so  few  examples  in  the  scriptures,  of  his  people  exhibiting 
peaceful  and  lively  faith  and  hope  at  the  moment  of  their  departure 
No  doubt  you  are  impressed  with  the  correciness  and  force  of 
what  I  say,  by  the  feebleness  and  distress  which  are  now  upon 
you.     And  you  see  and  feel  sensibly  that  if  your  strength  contm- 

5 


vt4  consolations  or 

ties  to  decrease  a  little  longer,  it  will  he  very  difficult  for  you  to 
collect  your  thoughts  so  as  to  he  composed  and  have  those  clear 
views  of  the  plan  of  salvation,  and  tliose  happy  feelings,  which 
you  have  had,  at  times,  wlien  all  your  strength  was  with  you; 
when  you  were  at  ease,  able  to  meditate  and  enjoy  your  medifa- 
tations.  No  doubt  you  can  4ook  back  to  seasons  when  you  have 
been  alone  with  your  Bible  and  your  Cod,  and  have  given  yourself 
to  meditation  and  thought  and  prnyer  till  your  faith  grew  exceed- 
ingly strong  and  your  hope  burned  within  you.  You  remember 
happy  seasons  when  you  have  been  at  church,  within  ihe  gates  of 
Zion,  in  the  courts  of  God's  house,  surrounded  by  the  congrega- 
tion of  the  people,  and  you  united  with  them  in  singing  the  prais- 
es of  God,  and  gave  yourself  up  to  devout  exercises  in  worshipingf 
his  holy  Mnjesty,  till  your  fajth  grew  so  strong  that  you  felt  as  if 
nothing  could  shake  it;  as  if  all  men  could  not  induce  nor  per- 
suade nor  tempt  nor  frighten  you  to  doubt  the  truth  and  reality  of 
religion.  Yea,  as  if  all  men  and  devils  combined  cou'd  not  cause 
you  to  doubt  the  truth  and  reality  of  your  own  established  faith, 
and  holy,  comforting  hope.  These  happy  seasons  you  may  have 
had,  but  if  you  look  for  such  in  your  dying  moments  you  may  be 
greatly  disappointed. 

Remember  that  at  these  times,  you  were  well  and  strong,  and 
able  to  think  profoundly,  and  bring  to  the  view  of  your  mind  all  the 
numerous  and  plain  evidences  which  support  and  confirm  the  truth 
of  our  divine  and  holy  religion. 

I  am  far  from  saying  that  it  is  impossible  for  you  to  have  those 
comfortable  views  and  feelings,  even  when  the  weakness  of  death 
is  upon  you.  If  you  expect  them  with  certainty  you  will  most 
likely  be  mistaken.  Very  few,  are  favored  with  such  views,  and 
feelings  in  the  dying  hour.  Perhaps  not  one  out  of  a  thousand. — 
You  may  have  taken  notice  yourself,  as  you  passed  along  through 
life,  and  witnessed  the  death  of  your  fellow  men,  that  very  few 
seemed  to  exhibit  such  faith  and  hope. 

It  is  true  God  can  enable  men  to  do  it,  even  under  the 
•weakest  state  of  body.  And  it  is  no  less  true  that  he  has  enabled 
a  few  to  do  it,  in  almost  every  age  of  the  world.  I  have  read,  and 
perhaps  you  have  read  of  his  enabling,  now  and  then  one,  (with- 
out miracle,  as  tliere  was  in  the  case  of  Stephen,)  to  surprise  all  a- 
round  ihem  by  the  clearness  of  their  views  and  the  hnppy  state  of 
their  feelings  while  the  breath  was  going  out  of  their  bodies, — 
Even  in  our  day  you  may  have  heard  of  or  seen  some  such  exam- 
ples. They  are  however  very  few,  as  1  have  said,  perhaps  not  one 
out  of  a  thousand.  Men  generally  die  in  so  much  wenkncss,  and 
pain  and  distress,  as  to  exhibit  no  such  views  and  feelings.  It  is 
your  duty  to  desire  and  pray  that  God  would  not  only  continue 


niK    AFFLiIlTEO.  •M 

your  senses  with  you  but  would  grant  you  such  comfortable  faith 
and  hope,  in  your  dyina  hour. 

B'li  he  has  not  answered  al)  your  pr  ^yers  that  you  have  put  up 
through  life,  just  as  you  iisked  ihem,  solhat  you  received  the  very 
blessing  for  which  you  asked ;  and  it  would  be  presumption  in  you 
to  expect  certainly  that  he  would  grant  thi:5  last  one,  aud  enable 
you  not  only  to  enjoy  your  senses,  but  to  have  faith  and  hope  in 
peaceful  and  lively  exercise.  It  wo>dd  be  more  reasonable  for  yoU 
to  expect  to  die  as  men  gener:tny  d>e,  aaJ  o.^  perhaps  you  have 
seen  many  others  depart,  without  any  very  striking  appearances  of 
faith,  hopo  or  comfort.  Dreidful  are  the  paino,  .'."1  s'Tuggles, 
and  -igonies  of  death,  and  it  is  truly  great  and  special  mercy  ia 
God  to  enable  any  one  while  experiencing  them  to  exhibit  those 
happy  views  and  feelirigs. 

Should  you  not  be  enabled  to  exibit  them,  yet  you  will  possess 
them.  God  will  be  fjitbful  to  you,  he  will  not  desert  you,  "  you 
will  die  the  death  of  the  rii^h  eoi^«,  and  your  hst  end  will  be  like 
his,"  if  you  approach  that  hoiir,  feeling  yourself  to  be  made  righte- 
ous, as  you  humbly  think  you  have  been  and  now  are. 

My  dear  feeble  fellow  mortal,  you  must  trust  in  God  whenyoii 
die.  You  do  not  live,  nor  move,  nor  have  your  being  in  yourself. 
^  You  live,  and  move,  and  have  your  being  in  God."  This  is  the 
case  with  you,  and  all  men,  whether  thev  are  sensible  of  it  or  not. 
The  great  body  of  them  do  not  appear  to  be  sensible  of  it.  There 
may  have  been  a  time  when  you  were  not  sensi'ole  of  it ;  when  you 
did  not  feel  your  dependence  on  God.  Before  you  embraced  re- 
ligion,  you  may  have  had  no  realizing  sense,  that  you  lived,  and 
moved,  and  had  your  being  in  him.  And  even  afterwards,  you 
may  have  thought,  that  you  believed  you  lived,  and  moved,  and 
had  your  being  in  him,  but  at  the  same  time  had  no  deep  and  re- 
alizing sense  of  your  entire  and  absolute  dependence  upon  him 
for  all  things  in  I'fe  and  in  death. 

Previous  to  this  present  sickness,  when  you  felt  well  and  strong, 
very  likelv  theie  w-«  but  a  faint  impression  upon  your  mind,  of  your 
own  weakness, and  helplessness,  and  your  entire  and  absolute  de- 
pendence on  God.  Nevertheless  you  may  have  had  some  impres- 
sion of  this  great  tnith. 

But  now  you  begin  to  realize  it  with  all  your  heart,  and  in  all 
your  feelings.  You  find  that  your  own  strength  on  which  you  de- 
pended begins  to  fail  you.  You  had  great  dependence  on  your 
phisician  and  friends,  but  these  begin  also  to  fail  you.  Their  skill 
and  power  seem  to  be  nearly  exhausted,  and  you  feel  as  if  they 
now  do  you  little  or  no  good ,  and  that  if  you  get  a  little  worse  they 
will  be  able  to  do  you  none  at  all.  You  naturally  and  necessari- 
ly look  around  for  on«  th»<  -s  able  to  help.     You  know  that  yon 


56>  oomsoijations  ur 

will  look  in  vain  to  the  princes  and  mighty  men  of  the  earth ; 
they  cannot  help  you.  Your  physician  and  friends  can  do  as  mucB 
for  you  as  all  the  world  besides. 

The  whole  world,  with  all  its  inhabitants,  does  actually  begin  to 
give  way,  and  retire  out  of  your  view.  Never  before  had  you  such 
a  sense  of  the  utter  weakness  of  man,  and  the  entire  insufficiency 
of  all  earthly  things.  Now  you  have  the  sick  man's  views  and 
feelings,  which,  they  who  have  not  been  sick  and  brought  nigh  to 
death,  know  but  little  about.  Now  you  are  so  far  from  having 
strength  to  attend  to  the  schemes  and  affairs  and  business  of  this 
world,  that  it  is  all  you  can  do  to  hold  on  to  life,  and  you  begin  to 
feel  as  if  you  would  not  be  able  to  do  this  much  longer.  The 
life  of  your  body  is  supported  by  food ; — by  bread,  and  water, 
and  air;  and  light  contributes  greatly  to  the  comfort  of  man. 

Ail  these  great  and  only  supporters  of  the  life  of  your  body,  you' 
begin  to  feel  no  longer  able  to  recieve,  and  what  little  you  do  re- 
cieve  of  them,  does  not  appear  to  reach  your  case,  nor  to  contwbule 
to  the  nourishment  and  support  of  your  animal  nature.  You  can 
take  scarcely  any  food,  or  any  drink ;  yea,  so  weak  are  you,  that  you 
can  scarcely  use  the  air  itself,  can  scarcely  breathe  it  into  youf 
lungs,  and  force  it  out  again,  to  receive  that  which  is  fresh  and  more 
active  to  support  life.  Yea,-  more,  so  weak  are  your  eyes,  that  per- 
haps  you  cannot  bear  even  the  light.  Thus  you  begin  to  feel  as  if 
the  time  were  nigh,  when  you  eould  no  longer  eat,  drink,  see  ot 
breathe. 

In  short,  when  you  will  be  able  no  longer  to  hold  on  to  the 
world,  nor  the  world  able  to  hold  on  to  you ;  when  you  must  ]el  go 
of  it,  and  youi  friends  must  let  go  of  you.  O  now !  you  begin  to 
see,  and  realize  deeply,  most  deeply,  that  "  vain  is  the  help  of 
Tnan."  This  declaration  of  the  oracles  of  truth  comes  home  to 
you  with  great  weight,  it  finds  its  way  into  the  very  bottom  of  your 
heart, — "  vain  is  the  help  of  man."  And  now  you  feel,  and  real- 
ize your  dependence  on  God.  All  language  fails  to  express  that 
deep  and  feeling  sense,  which  you  have  of  your  dependence  on  the 
Divine  Being.  You  see,  and  know,  and  feel,  and  realize,  that  it  is 
true,  it  is  indeed  true,  that  you  depend  on  God — thai  he  created 
you,  and  upholds  you,  and  that  he  alone  can  take  cave  of  yo^i  in 
hfe  and  in  death.  You  gladly  make  the  "  Eternal  God  your  re- 
fnse,  and  have  underneath  you  the  everlasting  arms."  In  him  yoU 
trust. — On  him  you  rest  your  body  and  soul.  This  you  have 
long  endeavored  to  do,  but  have  never  yet  done  it  so  fully  and  un- 
reservedly as  you  do  it  now.  You  see,  and  are  sensible,  that  he 
and  he  only,  who  made  the  universe  and  upholds  it,  can  conduct 
the  various  parts  and  beings  of  it  through  those  changes,  through 
wKich  he  designs  them  to  pass,  and  take  care  of  tliem  while  pass- 


THE  AFFLICTEDi  ^*^ 

ins  That  he  alone  can  guide  the  innumerable  worlds  which 
wheel  their  circles  in  boundless  space.  That  he  not  only  does 
this,  from  the  greatest  to  the  least,  but  takes  care  of  even  the  spar- 
rows when  they  fall.  .  ,    . 

And  here  you  remember  with  deep  interest  that  encouraging 
declaration  of  the  scriptures--"  Fe.r  ye  not  therefore  ye  are  of 
more  value  than  many  sparrows."  You  feel  yourself  to  be  of  more 
value  than  many  sparrows.  You  have  all  confidence  then  that  if 
God  takes  care  of  the  spnrrows  when  they  fall,  he  will  not  tail  to 
take  care  of  you  when  you  die.  You  know  that  your  soul  is  a 
spirit,  and  that  God  is  a  spirit;  that  spirit  can  act  upon  spirit;  that 
he,  the  Great  Spirit ;  can  alone  support  and  comfort  your  spirit,  m 
the  dyintr  hour,  while  it  is  passing  from  time  to  eternity.  You  re- 
meniber  with  pecnhar  pleasure  the  manner  in  which  he  took  care 
of  dyina  Stephen'i  spirit,  in  the  hands  of  the  great  Mediator, 
and  you  trust  in  him,  that  without  a  miracle  he  can  lake  as  good 
care  of  yours.  From  all  these  thoughts  and  considerations,  you 
settle  down  into  the  most  unreserved  and  confirmed  trust  in  God-. 
This  is  right.— This  is  just  as  it  ought  to  be.  And  now,  for  your 
encouragement  let  me  tell  you  the  difference  between  your  trust 
and  the  trust  of  the  deist  or  infidel.  You  trust  in  God  when  you 
are  dying,  and  so  does  the  infidel.  You  believe  there  is  a  God, 
who  is  a  spirit,  and  you  trust  in  him,  and  so  does  he.  The  great 
diiference  between  your  trust  and  his,  consists  m  the  following 

things.  "  . 

You  believe  that  man  in  this  world  is  a  sinner  m  a  state  ol  sin 
and  misery,  and  that  God  has  laid  a  plan  for  his  salvation,  sent  his 
son  the  great  Mediator  to  execute  it,  and  pointed  out  the  means  of 
this  plan  which  man  should  use.  Some  of  these  means  are  to 
read  it  attentively,  with  an  earnest  desire  to  know  the  truth,  and 
to  pray  with  all  the  heart  for  salvation  according  to  it,  in  God's 
own  way,  and  not  in  a  way  of  our  own  clioosing.  These  with  all 
other  means  you  have  most  carfully  used. 

The  infidel  doubts,  and  denies,  and  rejects  this  plaft  of  salvation, 
and  this  Mediator;  at  the  same  time  knowing  that  there  is  no  other, 
and  when  becomes  to  die  has  not  used  the  means  pointed  out  in  it. 
His  spirit  has  been  at  war  with  this  plan,  at  war  with  the  great 
Mediator,  and  he  has  resolutely  refused  to  use  the  means  of  salva- 
tion, the  means  of  God's  appointment.  In  lliis  he  has  acted  con- 
trary to  the  manner  in  which  he  has  acted  in  all  the  great  concerns 
of  life.  He  has  ever  used  the  means  to  procure  food,  and  to  pre- 
sei'^e  the  life  of  his  body.  And  while  be  wis  using  them—while 
he  was  planting  his  corn  and  sowing  his  seeds,  he  very  consistent- 
ly trusted  in  God  for  a  crop — for  food  to  keep  his  body  alive,  but 
when  he  comes  to  die  he  has  used  no  means  for  the  salvation  of 

5* 


S'S  CdN30LATlONal  OF 

his  soul.  Nevertheless  he  stupidly  trusts  in  God  for  that.— 
Though  God  has  given  him  no  warrant,  nor  any  encouragemen'i: 
whatever  to  trust  in  him,  without  using  the  means  which  ho  has 
appointed,  yet  he  .does  it.  Having  resisted  the  strivings  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  and  not  having  cried  out  "  men  and  brethern  what 
shall  I  do?"  Without  ever  having  felt  his  sins  pardoned,  and 
lemoved  from  him- — without  ever  having  tasted  a  Saviour's  love, 
or  felt  the  strong  supports  of  the  Christian  fa th  and  hope,  he  trusts 
in  God  when  dying.  Without  ever  having  believed  the  account 
given  of  the  happy  departure  of  Stephen's  spirit,  in  the  hands  of 
Ihe  great  Mediator,  he  trusts  in  God  that  his  too  will  have  a  happy 
departure,  in  some  unknown  way,  some  way  that  he  knows  nothing 
of,  and  has  no  concern  about.  Thus  he  trusts  in  God.  He 
runs  an  indescribable  risk  for  eternity,  to  say  nothing  more.-r 
Not  so  with  you.  You  run  none  at  all.  He  is  on  the  side  of  aw- 
ful hazard.     You  are  on  the  side  of  perfect  safety. 

Be  consoled  then!  O  be  consoled  my  dear  feeble  fellow  chris- 
tian! and  if  God's  good  time  has  come  for  you  to  die  in  a  few 
days,  just  continue  to  trust  in  him  as  you  are  doing,  and  he  will 
take  care  of  you.     Be  calm  and  patient  as  you  possibly  can. 

Some  litlle  time  before  you  come  to  the  last  moment,  the  last 
lireath,  while  yet  you  have  a  little  strength,  if  your  senses  be  con- 
tinued with  you,  remember  that  Sampson  in  his  dying  hour  killed 
more  of  God's  enemies  than  in  all  his  life  ;  do  not  fail  to  bear 
your  decided  testimony  in  favor  of  God's  gracious  plan  of  sal* 
vation. 

Speak  most  tenderly  and  affectionately  to  all  those  around  you, 
according  to  what  you  know  of  the  state  of  their  minds.  With 
(he  feeble  accents  of  a  dying  christian,  in  whose  heart  is  the  love 
•f  God,  and  who  trusts  ia  God  through  Jesus  the  great  Media- 
tor, encourage  those  who  may  be  standing  round  your  bed  that 
are  christians.  Tell  them  that  it  is  indeed  true  that  God  does 
not  forsake  the  dying  christian.  And,  if  God  so  enable  you,  as- 
sure them,  that  even  now,  you  feel  him  to  be  "the  God  of  all  com" 
Ibrt,"  upholding  and  comforting  your  spirit.  Tell  them  with  your 
voice  faltering  in  death,  and  with  a  pleasant  heavenly  smile  of 
your  countenance,  that  it  is  certainly  true,  that  you  feel  it  to  be 
true,  "that  the  favor  of  God  is  life,  and  his  loving  kindness  better 
than  life,"  And  Of  "when  your  quivering  lips  hang  feebly  down 
and  your  pulse  is  faint  and  few,"  with  the  same  voice  faltering  ia 
death,  and  with  the  same  pleasant  heavenly  smile,  tell  those  that 
are  not  christians  tohe  christians.  Tell  them  of  the  love  of  Jesus 
which  you  feel  in  your  soul,  and  the  full  assurance  of  faith  and 
laope  which  you  have,  that  in  a  few  moments  you  will  be  with  him 
t>  his  heavenly  kingdom.     And  if  your  voice  doe's  not  entirely. 


THE  AFfLlCTBD.  §^ 

fail,  and  you  can  utter  a  sentense  or  two  more,  let  your  last  words- 
to  them  and  all  around  you  be — "Prepare  to  meet  your  God!-* 
Flee  from  the  wrath  to  come!'." 

When  you  arfe  no  loiiget  able  to  speak,  do  not  expect  to  see  any 
thing  like  what  Stephen  saw.  Do  not  expect  to  see  any  thing 
atall  mor^  tlian  you  have'  always  seen,  till  your  dying  strife  and 
struggled  and  gasping  are  over.  Mildly  suffer  them  to  raise  youi 
head,  and  give  you  the  drink  and  medicine  which  your  physician 
and  friends  think  best,  till  you  are  no  longer  able  to  swallow,  be- 
cause even  after  this  you  may  recover.  Your  dear  and  beloved 
minister,  after  having  made  all  these  kind  remarks  and  hints  con- 
cerning the  things  and  beings  of  this  world  and  the  next,  from 
which  and  whom  you  may  reasonably  expect  consolation — after 
having  dicoursed  to  you  at  length  about  the  heavenly  world  and 
endeavored  to  give  you  a  description  of  it  according  to  the  scrip- 
tures— after  having  talked  to  you  most  freely  and  plainly  about 
death,  and  given  you  perhaps,  the  best  directions  that  are  in  the 
possession  of  man,  how  to  die — after  having  given  you  at  differ- 
ent times  sufficient  intervals  to  rest  and  gain  strength  to  listen  to 
him — after  having  spent  the  day,  till  the  sun  is  now  down  and  it  is 
dark,  kneels  down  hy  your  bed  side,  and  most  earnestly  and  fer- 
vently prays  to  the  God  of  all  power,  the  God  of  all  comfort  and 
consolation,  to  pity  you  in  your  afflicted  condition,  "in  your  low 
estate."  He  pours  out  his  soul  most  feelingly  to  the  great,  all-skill- 
ful and  only  infallible  Physician,  at  whose  bidding  diseases  fly,  to 
rebuke  your  disease  and  cause  it  to  leave  your  body,  if  it  be  agree- 
able to  his  holy  will;  that  you  may  be  delivered,  and  have  strength 
and  peace  and  comfort  to  serve  him  still  longer  upon  the  earth  j  if 
not,  that  he  would  wholy  resign  you  to  depart  and  go  hence,  and 
that  he  would  particularly  bless  you  in  your  dying  moments  and 
take  you  to  himself.  He  closes  his  prayer,  by  most  solemnly  com- 
mitting you  and  commending  you  to  the  care  and  keeping  of  al- 
mighty God. 

He  then  advises  you  to  stop  your  thoughts  and  to  sleep  and 
lest  all  you  can  through  the  night. — Leaves  you  a  sacred  promise 
to  come  and  see  you  frequently,  wliile  your  sickness  lasts,  and  af- 
fectionately bids  you  "  good  night."  Perhaps  you  get  a  little  sleep 
during  the  night,  but  in  the  morning  find  yourself  no  better  thaa 
©n  the  preceding  morning.  The  day  is  before  you,  but  not  a  day 
©f  much  pleasure  or  enjoyment.  The  taking  of  your  medicine  is 
to  he  attended  to,  and  its  operations  Waited  upon.  • 

You  are  now  not  to  expect  consolation  from  any  new  source  oi* 
ohject  or  being.  You  have  your  physician,  and  nurse,  and  friends 
around  you,  with  the  best  medicine,  and  the  most  suitable  and  deli- 
cate nourishment  they  can  procure.    You  have  the  Bible  and  other' 


00  COl!fSOLATI0N&  OF 

Sacred  books  in  your  room:  You  can  at  any  time  pour  out  youi" 
soul  in  earnest  wrestling  prayer  to  the  *'  God  of  all  comfort,"  for 
help  and  consolation.  And  you  may  be  consoled  by  the  thought 
that  the  chrisuans  of  your  church  are  praying  for  you,  and  that 
all  christians  pray  for  the  afflicted. 

Thus  I  have  brought  to  your  view  all  the  great,  the  main  things 
and  beings,  both  of  this  wor'd  and  the  next,  which  are  calculated 
to  minister  consolation  to  your  disconsolate  soul.  Your  kind 
minister  of  the  gospf^l  was  the  last  being  of  this  world  whom  I 
presented  to  your  view.  He  is  himself  of  this  world,  but  his  bu- 
siness is  to  labor  mostly  for  the  world  to  come.  This  being  his 
more  particular  and  special  business,  you  plainly  see  the  reason  of 
his  h'.iving  made  so  long  nn  address  to  you.  In  his  address  he  was 
«areful  to  bring  to  your  view  the  things  and  beings  of  this  world, 
and  point  you  to  creation  and  providence,  for  themes  on  which 
you  might  meditate,  for  your  encouragement  and  consolation. — 
This  was  with  a  view  to  your  still  living  and  lemaining  here. — 
But  )70u  observed,  he  said  much  more,  and  was  much  more  par- 
ticular in  speaking  to  you  concerning  the  things  and  beings  of 
the  next  world .  The  propriety  of  this  you  readily  perceive,  since 
it  is  his  special  business  to  attend  to  the  inleiests  of  the  next 
world  for  himself  and  others.  Having  a  deep  and  feeling  sense 
of  the  great  difference  between  the  shon  duration  of  time  and  the 
endless  duration  of  eternity,  and  also  of  the  unspeakable  value  of 
the  human  soul  in  all  that  it  is  capable  of  suffering  and  enjoying,  he 
has  said  every  thing  that  he  could  to  encourage  you  to  live,  if  it 
be  the  will  of  God,  and  every  thing  to  console  you  in  view  of 
death,  if  that  be  his  will.  But,  as  I  have  said,  he  is  the  last  being 
or  thing,  which  I  shall  bring  to  your  view  for  your  consolation.— 
In  truth,  I  know  of  no  others  which  are  calculated  substantially 
to  console  you.  These  serm  to  be  all.  It  appears  to  me  that  you 
will  look  in  vain  to  other  sources.  It  will  be  your  wisdom  to 
make  the  best  you  can  of  these,  and  if  you  recover,  well,  but  if 
you  die,  you  must. 

You  are  not  to  think  that  the  sources  of  consolation  and  help, 
which  I  have  spoken  of  your  having,  are  fewer  or  less  efficient 
than  other  poor  mortals  have  in  their  afflicticns.  Few,  very  fcWj 
who  lie  upon  the  bed  of  sickness  and  langnishment,  have  the  at- 
tention and  help  and  advantages  which  I  have  spoken  of  your  pos- 
sessing. Being  convinced  then,  that  you  are  sensible  of  this,  I 
will  follow  you  on  to  the  crisis  which  is  but  a  short  space  befc^re 
you.  You  have  just  entered  upon  another  day.  They  gently  lift 
you  off  your  bed — wash  your  fiice  and  hands  and  tenderly  comb 
your  hair — carefully  right  up  your  bed  and  lay  you  back  upon  it. 
I^ou  are  very  weak  and  in  mucli  pain  and  distress.     As  the  houis 


Itir:   AFFLICTED,  6i 

laove  atong,  at  times  when  you  feel  a  little  composed  and  a  little 
more  like  living,  you  n  tturally  think  about  those  things  of  this 
world  which  your  very  friendly  minister  has  brought  to  your  view. 
While  you  are  thus  indulging,  you  think  of  all  that  was  pleasan* 
in  life,  of  all  the  affairs  and  duties  of  life.  And  here  your  defi- ' 
ciencies  in  discharging  your  duty  to  your  fellow  men  in  former 
days  come  into  your  mind.  However  much  you  may  have  been 
disposed  to  do  good,  and  however  active  you  may  iiave  been  in 
doing  it,  you  now  feel  as  if  you  had  done  nothing  in  comparison 
to  what  you  might  have  done.  The  field  of  usefulness  among 
men  appears  to  you  now  to  be  exceedingly  extensive.  You  see 
how  you  have  neglected  a  thousand  opportunities  in  which  you 
might  have  said  or  done  something  that  mi^ht  have  been  of  great 
use  to  the  souls  and  bodies  of  your  poor  fellow  mortals.  You  feel 
that  if  it  would  but  please  God  to  restore  you  to  health,  you  would 
do  more  good  in  his  service,  and  for  the  best  interests  of  man,  in 
one  day,  than  you  formerly  did  in  a  month.  For  this  purpose  a 
desire  to  live  arises  in  your  breast.  You  feel  like  vowing  to  the 
Lord/and  perhaps,  in  your  soul  do  vow  to  him,  that  if  he  will 
raise  you  up  again,  you  will  be  far  more  unreservedly  and  more 
faithfully  his  servant  than  you  have  ever  been.  Will  spend  and 
be  spent  for  his  glory  and  the  good  of  man.  You  think  of  the 
nature  and  symptoms  of  your  disease,  to  see  whether  it  is  not  yet 
possible  for  you  to  recover.  With  the  anxious  and  earnest  look 
of  one  on  the  very  verge  of  eternity,  you  turn  to  your  physician, 
and  say — "  Doctor  is  it  possible  for  me  to  get  well  ?"  O  yes!  O 
yes!  he  replies,  that  is  the  very  thing  for  which  we  wish  you  1o 
hope,  and  there  is  still  ground  of  hope.  My  dear  patient!  )'ou 
must  not  despair.  You  must  hope;  it  is  your  duty  to  hope  as 
long  as  there  is  the  least  encouragement.  Just  before  this  you 
felt  yourself  to  be  balanced  upon  the  pivot  between  time  and  eter- 
nity, but  this  revives  you  a  little,  and  you  feel  inclined  to  the  side 
of  life.  You  are  willing  to  live  if  it  be  the  will  of  God.  Ac- 
cording to  the  nature  of  the  human  mind,  you  cannot  will  two 
different  and  opposite  things  at  the  same  moment.  You  cannot 
will  to  live  and  die  both  at  once.  As  a  creature,  a  dependent  l)e- 
ing,  and  particularly  as  a  christian,  it  is  your  duty  to  will  what 
God  wills  concerning  you.  Your  will  should  be  swallowed  up  in 
his  will.  But  he  has  not  revealed  to  you  the  exact  time  when 
you  shall  die.  You  feel  fully  resigned  to  his  will,  in  wha  ever 
way  he  may  cause  the  scales  to  turn.  And  now  he  seems  to  be 
causing  the  scale  of  time  to  outweigh,  and  you  have  no  objec* 
tions.  You  are  willing  to  recover,  and  for  a  time  longer  upon 
the  earth,  to  spend  and  be  spent  for  the  glory  of  God  and  the  good- 
of  man. 


tuS  CONSOLATIONS   O*  / 

But,  these  feelinos  and  symptoms  and  hopes,  in  favor  of  lite^ 
continue  only  a  short  time,  not  more  than  an  h(.nr  or  two.  The 
scale  of  eternity  now  begins  to  preponderate,  and  jour  face 
and  eyes  are  sudd  nly  turned  fiom  time  to  eternity. — »— You 
are  exceedingly  wenk  and  unible  to  bear  much.  You  have 
dreadful  distress  in  your  stom  .cb,  and  bowels,  and  head.  You 
feel  like  fainting  away.  Y<tnr  kind  nurse  applies  the  stimulating 
eamphor  to  your  nose,  baihes  your  temples  and  forehead  with  it, 
and  gives  you  a  little  wine  or  other  stimulus.  You  are  revived 
a  Utile,  but  your  face  is  slill  turned  towards  eternity,  and  you  can- 
not look  at  the  things  of  time.  Y.^.ur  kind  minister  comes  in — 
says  nothing  about  the  things  of  tim*^ — ndds  a  few  words  con- 
cerning the  glories  and  bliss  of  the  eternal  world — prays  with  you, 
and  retnes.  You  now  turn  your  whole  attention  for  consolatio'^, 
to  the  invisible  world.  You  think  of  the  great  invisible  comfort- 
er, the  Holy  (ihost— of  the  angels — of  the  sy)i.its  of  departed 
saints — of  Jesus  ihe  Saviour,  and  of  God  the  Father  of  all. — 
Your  view  of  th^  heavenly  p'radiseis  still  more  realizing.  You 
almost  feel  yourself  to  be  there.  It  is  not  the  fact  however'.  You 
are  still  in  ihe  body,  and  spending  a  d.^yonthe  earth  where  the  sun 
shines;  but  the  sun  is  now  setting  and  the  day  is  closing;  and  with 
the  declinging  day,  your  strength  is  declimng.  The  neighbo^irs 
in  every  direction  are  enquiring  how  you  are?  how  you  are? 
Whether  you  are  still  aliv<  ?  Some  of  them  come  in  to  see 
you  and  to  sit  \ip  with  you  during  the  night.  The  sun  is  now 
down,  and  the  shades  of  the  night  have  come  into  your  room.— 
O  the  dark  and  gloomy  hours  of  nigh!',  so  unpleasant  and  dread- 
ful to  the  feeble  and  languishing  sick !  Tt  comes  upon  you  now  with 
a  gloom  of  uncommon  and  ^en  fold  thickness!  your  spirit  lan- 
guishes. They  light  up  the  candles  and  decide  among  themselves 
how  they  will  manage  during  the  night.  Your  nearest  and  dear- 
est relations,  and  your  kind  and  f.ithful  nurse  have  now  become 
wearied  oul  by  being  broke  of  their  rest  in  nursing  you.  M"st 
of  them  retire  too«her  rooms  and  lie  down  to  rest;  but  your  faith- 
ful nurse,  though  she  is  overcome,  cannot  bear  the  thought  of 
leaving  your  room.  She  sinks  under  her  fatigue  upon  a  bed  at 
the  further  side,  and  falls  avsleep. 

The  doctor  is  still  with  you,  and  till  now  you  have  been  calcu- 
lating with  certainly  that  he  would  stay  with  you  during  the  night. 
But  at  this  time  he  is  forced  to  tell  you  that  he  has  other  patients 
whom  he  must  see  immediately.  Therefore  he  turns  to  the  kind 
neighbors  who  have  come  in  to  watch  with  you,  and  gives  them  par- 
ticular directions  how  to  nrnage  you.  Points  out  to  them  all  the 
medicines  and  drinks  and  stimulants  which  they  are  to  give  yuu 
during  the  eight.     He  steps  away  to  them  and  tells  them  in  ^ 


?riijJ   APFIICTED.  68 

-whisper,  so  that  you  cannot  htjar,  that  if  you  pet  very  low  and 
your  extremities  become  cold,  they  must  apply  warm  irons  or 
bricks  or  stones  wrapped  in  cloths  to  the  soles  of  your  feet — use 
the  camphor  freely  about  your  nose  and  temples,  and  other  parts 
of  the  body,  particularly  the  back  bone,  and  give  you  as  large 
quantities  of  stimulants  as  you  can  bear.  He  is  now  ready  to 
leave  you — he  returns  to  youi  bed  side,  takes  you  by  the  hand  and 
very  affectionately  bids  you  "good  night."  He  retires  and  shut& 
the  door  after  him.  But  O!  O!  O!  there  you  lie  upon  the  bed, 
with  every  prospect  of  its  being  the  bed  of  death.  You  groan— 
your  hand  falls  upon  the  bed  and  you  feel  like  giving  up.  In  a 
few  hours,  sure  enough,  you  sink  very  low  and  your  extemities 
begin  to  feel  cold.  Your  faithful  attendants  go  to  work  with  great 
activity  to  restore  the  vital  heat  of  your  system — to  warm  you  up 
and  revive  you.  They  succeed;  but  in  doing  it  they  bring  you 
from  one  extreme  to  another,  from  coldness  to  too  great  heat,  and 
your  distress  is  equally  great  if  not  greater  than  when  you  were 
sunk  so  low.  In  this  manner  you  drag  out  the  longest  and  most 
dreary  night  that  you  have  overpassed  upon  the  earth,  and  in  the 
morning  are  evidently  no  better,  but  weaker  and  worse.  So  soon 
as  day  dawns,  your  physician  comes  in,  bringing  with  him  every- 
thing of  which  he  could  think  that  promises  in  the  least  to  relieve 
y«)u.  He  inquires  how  you  had  got  through  the  night.  Your 
kind  attendants  give  him  a  particular  account.  You  are  so  low 
however,  as  to  pay  very  little  attention  even  to  him.  He  renews 
his  exertions  with  increased  energy  and  faithfulness — determines 
to  spend  the  day  with  you,  and  the  night  too,  if  necessary.  He 
stands  over  you  and  watches  you  every  nionient,  and  at  the  very 
firs.t  appearance  of  an  alurming  symptom  or  unfavorable  change, 
endeavors  to  meet  it  and  check  it  with  the  very  best  means  in  his 
power  and  to  the  very  best  advantage.  Thus  he  keeps  you  along, 
evidently  however,  growing  worse  till  about  mid-day;  when  you 
turn  your  eyes  up,  and  with  indescribable  ear  nest  nets,  look  him  in 
the  face,  and  suy — ''Doctor  I  seriously  wish  you  to  be  candid  and 
tell  me  what  you  think  now  of  my  case  ?"  he  replies,  "my  dear 
patient,  I  am  very  loth  to  say  any  thing  to  discourage  you,  but 
candor  and  honesty  compel  me  to  tell  you  that  you  have  now 
very  little  ground,  if  any  at  all,  to  hope  for  life;  there  may  be  not- 
wiihstanding  a  little,  and  I  would  strongly  urge  you  to  continue 
to  hope  as  long  as  life  lasts," 

Thus  by  exerting  his  skill  to  the  utmost  and  by  his  incessant 
and  untemitting  vigilance,  he  keeps  you  along  till  the  shades  of 
evening  return  ag.^in.  But  in  spite  of  every  thing,  your  sympt- 
toms  are  more  alarming,  and  the  return  of  the  glooms  of  the  night 
makes  you  worse.     O  awful  night!  still  worse  than  the  one  pre- 


&4:  C0^60LAT10NS    OF 

ceding!  Your  relations  and  friends,  and  neighbors  bnve  gathered 
around  you,  but  there  is  little  or  no  hope  reinaining  in  their  breasts, 
or  even  in  the  breasts  of  your  doctor  or  your  kind  nurse.  Her 
faithfulness,  and  constancy,  and  energies  seem  to  be  even  more 
unyielding  than  the  doctor's,  and  she  appears  to  be  determined 
not  to  give  you  up.  But  all  appears  to  be  in  vain.  Yoii  grow 
worse  and  worse  till  mid-night,  when  your  symptoms  become 
more  violent  and  alarming  than  ever.  You  now  have  every  ap- 
pearance of  hasiy  mortality.  Your  extremities  become  quite  cold, 
and  the  paleness  of  death  is  in  your  countenance  and  on  your 
lips.  O  now  1  now  !  you  feel  your  "  soul  to  be  chased  through 
every  lane  of  life,"  and  almost  out  of  the  body!  It  flutters  to  l>e 
off.  And  you  say — '*  O  that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove  !  for  then 
would  I  fly  away  and  be  at  rest."  The  doctor,  aided  by  your  in- 
vincible nurse,  repeats  with  redoubled  activity,  what  before  he  Ind 
had  done  to  restore  the  vital  heat  and  prolong  life.  To  the  utter 
astonishment  of  every  beholder  he  succeeds  in  pulling  you  out  of 
the  very  jaws  of  death,  and  keeps  you  along  till  morning.  At 
the  dawn  of  day,  to  his  own  great  surprise,  and  the  unspeakable 
surprise  of  all  others,  he  discovers  symptoms  higlily  favorable. — 
He  reports  it  to  you  immediately,  but  you  are  not  at  all  sensible 
of  it,  and  do  not  believe  ^  word  of  it.  Nevertheless  it  is  true. — 
You  have  now  passed  the  frightful,  heartrending, soul  trying  cri-^ 
sis,  and  the  scale  has  decidedly  turned  in  favor  of  life.  In  a  few 
days  you  are  willing  to  acknowledge  that  you  are  better,  and  in 
due  time  get  well. 

My  dear  fellow  sufferer,  I  now  address  you  as  one  just  come 
out  of  the  furnace  of  affliction.  "  Behold  thou  art  uiade  whole:  sin 
no  more,  lest  a  worse  thing  come  unto  thee?"  It  is  seriously  to 
be  hoped  that  your  afflictions  have  been  sanctified  unto  you,  and 
have  had  a  sanctifying  effect  upon  you. — That  you  can  say  from 
the  heart,  "  it  is  good  for  me  that  I  have  been  afflicted  that  I  might 
learn  thy  statutes.  Before  I  was  afflic'ed  I  went  astray."  That 
in  passing  through  the  scorching  furnace  all  your  dross  has  been 
consumed!  and  that  you  "come  forth  as  the  gold  seven  times  pu- 
rified." That  iii  a  certain  sense  you  are  another  being,  a  belter 
being. — That  you  are  much  better  acquainted  with  yourself  and 
all  your  duties  to  God  and  man.  That  you  are  sensible  that "  the 
Lord  bringetli  down  to  the  grave  and  bringeth  up."  That  your 
heart  is  filled  and  is  continually  overflowing  with  gratitude  to  God, 
for  hi=?  sparing  and  delivering  mercies,  and  that  every  sensibility  of 
your  soul  and  body,  are  aw?ke  to  the  interests  and  welfire  of  your 
fellow  men.  In  short,  that  for  the  remaining  time  which  may  be 
allowed  you  on  earth, you  will  continually  remember  and  perpetual- 
ly strive  to  fulfil  "  thavow,  which  your  soul  in  angiiish  made"— 


niE   AFFLtCTED. 


eg 


<i  to  spend  and  be  spent,  for  the  glory  of  God  and  the  good  of 
man."  And  while  you  are  spending  and  being  spent,  never  forget 
for  a  moment,  that  as  you  did  not  die,  you  have  still  to  die. 

But  instead  of  all  this;  instead  of  y</ur  now  being  alive,  and  ac- 
tive among  men  upon  the  earth,  just  when  you  came  to  the  crisis, 
the  scales  might  have  turned  in  n  different  way, and  you  might  have 
died.  In  tliaiccisn,  you  would  have  passed  into  the  heavenly  par- 
adise, and  your  place  on  earth  would  have  known  you  no  more 
forever,  .    August  14th,  1828, 


FOR  THE  CHRONIC  PATIENT. 


'Thus  far  I  have  considered  the  case  of  a  person  overtaken  and 
^ittack^d  by  some  dreadful  calamity  or  violent  disease,  manifestly 
threatening  life:  the  case  of  one  brought  very  low  and  looked  up- 
on by  all  to  he  dangerously  ill. 

I  next  proceed  to  consider  the  case  of  a  person  afflicted  with 
Some  seated  affliction  or  disease.  Such  are  very  numerous  among 
manliind,  and  the  disorders  under  which  they  labor  are  not  much 
less  various  than  the  persons  are  numerous  who  endure  them. 

As  I  have  already  observed,  they  are  the  persons  who  are  more 
properly  said  to  be  afflicted.  Their  afflctions  are  not  only  of  va- 
rious kinds,  but  of  different  degrees.  The  various  local  calami- 
ties to  which  the  human  frame  is  subject  may  be  divided  into  two 
general  classes.  These  which  are  without,  or  nearly  without  pain, 
and  those  which  are  attended  with  more  or  less  pain.  There  are 
mrny  calamities  settl<\l  upon  the  sons  and  daughters  of  affliction 
in  whicli  they  suffer  loss,  but  not  piin.  Perhaps  pain  may  be 
endured  at  the' lime  of  the  commencement  of  the  trouble,  but 
none  afterwards.  In  tlie  loss  of  the  feet,  or  legs,  or  hands,  or 
arms,  or  eyes,  or  of  tlie  hearing,  or  in  the  permanent  distortion  of 
a  limb,  or  the  fracture  of  a  bone,  there  may  be  little  or  no  bodilv 
pain.  The  deficiency  or  helplessness  causes  much  distress  of 
mind  without  doubt,  and  such  persr;ns  need  the  sympathies  of 
their  fellow  creatures,  and  all  the  consolations  they  can  obtain, 
but  HOT  so  much  as  those  unhappy  sufferers  whose  bodies  are  dis- 
tressed and  wasted,  and  weakened  from  day  to  da^,  by  seated  and 


66  CONSOLATIONS   OP 

grievous  pains.  Such  diseases,  located  either  upon  the  external 
or  internal  parts,  are  called  by  the  Medical  Faculty,  chronic  com- 
plaints, that  is,  complaints  of  long  continuance.  Of  this  kind 
are  rheumatic  pains,  unhealed  sores,  white  swellings,  cancers,  &,c, 
seated  on  the  exterior;  diseases  of  the  stomach  and  bowels,  the 
liver  disease,  diseases  of  the  heart,  asthma,  dropsy,  consumption 
of  the  lungs,  &:c.  seated  in  the  chest  and  abdomen,  together  with 
the  whole  train  of  nervous  disorders,  viz:  hyprochondriasis,  hyste- 
ric and  epileptic  fits,  the  palsy,  &-c.  seated  in  the  head.  These  are 
chronic  disorders  which  prevail  more  or  less  in  the  United  States 
of  America.  Some  of  the  most  common  and  most  distressing  of 
these,  are  epileptic  fits,  the  palsy,  the  liver  disease,  and  consump- 
tion of  the  lungs.  These  two  last  are  of  all  others,  the  most 
common.  Of  the  two,  ihe  liver  disease  is  the  more  common,  but 
the  consumption  of  the  lungs  is  more  fatal  than  it.  A  person  la- 
boring under  any  of  these,  but  especially  under  any  of  the  sever- 
est of  them,  is  afflicted  indeed,  and  certainly  needs  all  the  con- 
solation he  can  obtain. 

It  now  becomes  my  benevolent  and  sympathetic  task  to  present 
to  the  view  of  such  a  one  all  the  consoling  considerations  which 
may  come  within  the  range  of  my  thoughts.  The  task  will  be  ea- 
sier to  me  as  T  have  been  myself  for  five  years  just  such  a  person. 

Suffer  me  then,  my  dear 'companion  in  sorrow  and  affliction,  to 
draw  near  to  you,  and  with  all  the  awakened  and  lively  sympathies 
of  one  who  has  long  felt  and  still  feels  the  same  with  yourself,  to 
address  you  most  familiarly  with  respect  to  your  afflicted  condi- 
tion. You  are  a  christian.  But  we  are  told  by  the  scriptures,  that 
the  christian  character  is  no  guarantee  against  affliction,  but  rath- 
er the  contrary. 

"  For  whom  the  Lord  loveth  he  chasteneth,  and  «;courgeth  eve- 
ry son  whom  he  receiveth."  "But  if  ye  be  v;ithout  chastisement, 
whereof  all  are  partakers,  then  are  ye  bastards,  and  not  sons." 
'  Your  affliction  is  of  the  chronic  character,  slow  and  lasting.— 
Such  disorders  sometinjcs  commence  with  violent  attacks,  and  in 
their  progress,  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  for  the  patient  to  be  vi- 
sited by  such  attacks,  whic!)  manifestly  threaten  to  take  life.  If 
you  are  visited  with  such  an  attnck  now,  or  should  you  be  at  any 
future  time,  all  1  can  do  for  you  is  to  refer  you  to  what  I  have  al- 
ready written  in  the  former  part  of  this  v;oTk.  That  is  written 
specially  for  a  patient  seized  wi»h  a  dangerous  periodical  illness. 
There  1  h:u'e  enumer-^ted  nil  the  consola1ir>ns  which  came  to  my 
mmd,  and  which  I  thought  calculated,  safely  and  substantially  to 
console  the  nfflicied,  in  the  immediate  prospect  of  deatli.  You 
will  ■he'-efore  Uini  to  that  and  consider  yourself  the  person  there- 
in addrufijed.     It  is  designed,  as  I  also  design  what  is  to  follow- 


THE   AFFLICTEB.  bi 

to  be  applicable  with  equal  propriety,  to  per3ons  of  either  sex, 
male  or  female. 

But  1  now  proceed  to  view  you  and  address  you  as  one,  not 
alarmed  nor  torn  by  a  violent  attack,  but  pursued  by  a  steady  dis- 
tressing disease.  A  disease  which  does  not  in  a  few  days  tear 
from  you  your  flesh,  rob  you  of  your  strength,  nor  daringly  threat- 
en to  give,  in  a  hasty  manner,  what  little  remains  of  you,  to  the 
lonely  grave  and  devouring  worms.  Not  like  the  sudden  flash 
which  blasts  and  consumes  the  powder  in  an  instant,  but  like  the 
genllc  blaze  that  gradually  wastes  away  the  lengthened  taper. — 
Sach  is  the  disease  which  prays  upon  some  part  of  your  unhappy 
frame,  perhaps  upon  your  very  vitals.  Before  its  slow,  silent  pro- 
gress, the  blooming  roseate  glow  of  health  has  fled  from  your 
sunken  cheek.  Paleness  with  all  its  unwelcome  and  unlovely  as- 
pect has  taken  its  seat  in  your  countenance.  The  brightness  of 
your  eye  is  obscured — sorrow  sits  visible  on  your  brow — your  voice 
is  weak — literally  your  "  hands  hang  down,  and  your  knees  are 
feeble."  Every  sinew,  and  muscle,  and  nerve,  and  fibre  is  out  of 
tone  and  enervated.  Your  joints  are  loose,  and  your  whole  frame 
relaxed.  You  have  lost,  not  only  sprightliness  of  appearance,  but 
activity  of  motion.  And  this  is  not  all,  you  have  lost  in  a  great 
degree,  the  enjoyment  of  your  food,  are  deprived  of  your  wont- 
ed rest,  and  of  refreshing,  balmy  sleep".  Such  is  your  unhappy 
condition. 

Nor  is  this  all.  Y'ou  have  not  only  lost  all  these  things,  but 
have  in  their  place  a  fixed  and  painful  disease,  which,  (like  the 
shadow  of  your  body  during  the  hours  of  sun  shine)  goes  where 
you  go,  stops  when  you  stop,  and  stays  where  you  stay.  You  are 
not  merely  crossing  in  haste,  a  dark  valley,  but  slowly  descending 
its  dismal  length.  Not  merely  passing  a  short  night  of  sorrow  and 
pain,  but  feebly  dragging  onwards  through  a  long  scene  of  sore 
affliction — a  life  of  gloomy  adversity.  O  my  friend!  how  happy 
for  us  is  it,  that  it  is  not  all  wo,  absolute  misery,  and  hopeless 
darkness;  bad  as  it  is,  there  are  occasional  relaxations  from  pain, 
there  is  now  and  then  a  little  rest,  there  are  sources  of  consolation, 
there  is  hope !  To  these  sources  of  consolation,  permit  me,  now, 
deliberately  to  turn  your  attention.  But  let  me  tell  you  in  the 
out-set  not  to  let  your  expectations  rise  too  high,  nor  suffer  your- 
self to  anticipate  too  much  of  that  which  is  new  and  different 
from  what  I  have  already  written.  I  have  already  said  that  I  have 
therein,  at  least  briefly  touched  upon  all  the  great  and  most  pro- 
mising sources  of  consolation  to  which  I  thought  it  proper  and 
appropriate  to  turn  the  attenion  of  a  poor  Itng'iishing  mortal. — 
I  have  there  spoken  of  all  the  help  that  his  fellow  beings  can  give 
him — of  all   be  can  derive  from  medicine — from  books — froirf 


6^  CONSOLATIONS   OJf 

thoughts  on  creation  and  providence — on  immortalily  and  eternix^ 
ty — on  heaven  and  happiness,  and  of  all  the  consolations  which^ 
he  may  reasonably  expect  to  flow  into  his  disconsolate  bosom, 
from  created  invisible  beings  and  directly  from  God  himself,  the 
source  of  all  consolation. 

I  shall  direct  your  thoughts  to  the  same  sources  and  in  very 
much  the  same  order.  The  difference  lies  not  in  the  sources  of 
consolation  but  in  the  nature  of  the  afflictions  of  him  whose  trou- 
ble is  strictly  periodical  and  temporary,  and  of  youi^s  whose  dis- 
ease is  located  and  continuous. 

The  great  sources  of  consolation  for  the  afflicted,  (and  indeed 
for  all  men,)  are  the  same.  Consolations,  it  is  true,  may  be  re- 
ceived in  different  degrees,  in  different  ways,  and  through  differ- 
ent  organs,  but  they  all  flow  from  the  same  great  sources.  It 
were  vain  then  for  me  to  talk  of  other  sources  or  attempt  to  turn 
your  mind  to  others,  when  there  are  none. 

My  aim  and  object  therefore,  will  be,  to  make  all  the  use  I 
can  of  the  foregoing,  with  a  steady  reference  to  the  peculiaritieg^ 
of  your  case. 

The  first  source  of  consolation  and  help,  which  we  brought  to 
view  in  the  former  case,  was  the  pliysician.  When  a  person  be- 
comes disordered  in  almost  any  way,  but  particularly  as  you  are, 
lie  or  she,  (as  the  case  may  be,)  usually  endeavors,  for  a  time,  to 
get  over  it  without  the  aid  of  a  physician.  But  when  he  finds 
that  all  he  can  do  for  himself  is  unavailing  and  without  the  desir^ 
ed  success,  he  next  most  naturally  thinks  of  the  physician  and  ap- 
phes  to  him.  This  you  had  better  do,  without  delay,  so  soon  as 
you  find  your  own  prescriptions  to  be  fruitless.  There  are  two  rea^ 
sons  why  patients  not  unfrequently  suffer  diseases  to  get  the  ad- 
vantage of  them.  They  persist  in  indulging  the  hope  that  nature 
will  right  herself  and  they  will  get  over  the  difficulty;  and  they 
iear  a  heavy  doctor's  bill.  In  this  as  in  all  other  matters,  yoa 
should  strive  to  avoid  extremes. 

It  exhibits  no  small  degree  of  weakness  and  folly  for  a  person 
fo  run  to  the  doctor  with  every  slight  injury  or  disorder.  If  the 
doctor  should  happen  to  be  a  man  destitute  of  virtuous  and  sound 
principles,  he  will  take  advantage  of  such  hasty  and  needless  ap- 
plication, and  perhaps  the  patient  will  not  get  over  it  any  quicker 
with  his  aid  than  without  it,  and  at  the  same  time  exhibit  "his  weak- 
ness, and  besides  have  the  trouble  and  expense  of  paying  his  bill. 
Tiie  matter  is  still  worse  on  the  part  of  the  doctor  when  he  search- 
es out  such  slight  cases,  particularly  among  the  more  ignorant 
6nd  uninformed  part,  of  the  community,  and  makes  them  believe 
they  are  worse  than  they  really  are,  and  that  he  can  be  of  great 
^S§arvice  in  curing  the  disease.    AH  quadcs,  and  many  of  the  xc^m-^ 


THE     APFLICTEft.  69 

!ar  physicians  are  exceedingly  self-conceited,  forward  and  offi- 
cious, and  therefore  deserve  to  be  shunned. 

But  on  the  contrary  of  all  this,  you  will  be  very  unwise  in  de- 
laying to  call   to  your  aid  medical  skill,  after  you    have  even 
moderaie  evidence  that  a  local  and  chronic  disease  has  taken  its 
seat  on  any  part  of  your  frame.     Because  some  patients  are  in- 
clined to  be  too  hasty  in  applying  to  the  physician,  and  many  phy- 
sicians too  forward  with  their  prescriptions,  you  should  not  be  too 
backward  to  make  known  your  condition  to  the  ablest  and  most 
candid  doctor  within  your  reach.     You  may  conceive  that  it  is 
only  an  inconsiderable  disorder  when  the  doctor  mi^ht  be  able  to 
discover  that  something  truly  serious  had  taken  hold  upon  you.— 
Patients  are  often  deceived  by  diseases  and  are  actually  gone  be- 
yond recovery  before  they  make  known  their  condition.     Then 
the  cry  of  the  doctor  is,  ''  if  you  had  come  sooner  I  might  have 
done  something  for  you."     And  this  complaint  is  often  just.~ 
This  however,  is  one  of  the  many  ways  which  the  allwise  Crea- 
tor takes  to  conceal  from  mortals  the  time  of  their  death.     Such 
is  the  lurking  movements  of  diseases  in  their  frame  that  they  are 
often  a  prey  to  death  before  they  are  aware.     And  at  other  times 
there  is  every  symptom  and  appearance  of  death  and  the  patient 
recovers.     Therefore,  the  wisest  course  is  to  apply  to  the  doctors. 
But  you  are  not  to  expect  them  to  have  so  acute  a  knowledge  of 
the  secret  workings  of  the  animal  machine  and  of  the  symptoms 
of  disease  in  it,  as  to  make  no  mistake.     The  contrary  is  the  fact. 
Discerning  as  the  enlightened  eye  of  medical  science  may  be,  and 
actually  is,  such  are  the  deep  and  dark  workings  oftentimes,  of  the 
simplest  diseases,  tliat  it  cannot  see  the  whole  extent  of  their 
alarming  character.     You  will  not  be  so  simple  then  as  to  expect 
the  doctor  to  know  so  much  more  than  yourself,  as  to  be  able  to 
tell  you  certainly  all  about  your  disease.     And,  as  he  cannot 
know  every  thing  concerning  it,  you  must  not  expect  him  to  do 
more  than  he  knows.     They  very  often  know  more  than  they  can 
do.     They  can  tell  the  patient  what  is  the  matter  with  him,  and 
how  the  disease  will  likely  proceed,  but  very  often  can  do  little  or 
nothing  for  him.     In  some  cases  absolutely  nothing.     This  is  . 
sometimes  true  with  respect  to  cancers  and  internal  schirrous  af-- 
fections,  &c.     In  chronic  d'nte^ses  generally,  they  can  do  little 
more  than  check  their  violence  and  mitigate  the  pains  of  the  j>a- 
tient.     Otherwise  there  would  be  no  chronic  disorders .     Because, 
if  it  were  within   the  compass  of  their  skill  to  cure  them,  they 
would  do  it,  and  such  diseases  would  never  gain  themme  o^ chro- 
nic complaints.     I  do  not  mean  that  in  no  case  at  ill  they  are  able 
to  cure  them.     In  some  instances  they  have  succeeded  in  effect- 
ing a  cure,  and  that  in  a  v  ry  short  time,  but  in  general,  if  a  cure 
be  effected  it  requires  time,  6*  • 


^0  cfONsoiATioNs  or 

These  vemaikg  I  design  not  to  discourage  you,  but  ^o  keep  yoiir' 
anticipations  from  rising  too  high,  and  thus  to  prevent  disappoint- 
ment. It  is  better  to  bear  a  little  caution  in  the  beginning  than  to 
have  the  keen  stings  of  disappointment  added  to  your  troubles, 
which  no  doubt,  you  consider  already  numerous  enough  and  great 
enough.  Be  encouraged  then,  indulge  a  temperate  and  reasona- 
ble hope  in  your  bieast,  and  prudently  endeavor  to  obtain  all  the 
human  and  earthly  help  you  can. 

If  there  are  many  physicians  in  your  reach  be  careful  to  choose 
that  one  who  is  the  most  skilful  and  has  the  most  experience. — • 
There  is  no  class  of  men  to  whom  age  and  experience  are  more 
useful  than  to  physicians. 

After  you  have  made  your  choice  as  wisely  as  you  can,  you  are 
still  not  to  expect  too  much.  The  doctor  will  likely  not  be  able 
to  cure  you  without  tirst  reducing  and  weakening  your  whole  sys- 
tem. This  is  true  with  respect  to  most  diseases.  There  is  no 
disease  located  either  on  the  exterior  or  in  the  interior  but  what 
soon  affects  the  whole  machine.  It  is  generally  thought,  the  most 
direct  and  effectual  way  to  counteract  such  bad  effects,  and  to 
cure  the  disease,  even  if  it  be  located  on  the  extremities,  is  by  in- 
troducing medicines  into  the  stomach. 

These  medicines  must  necessarily  be  so  powerful  as  to  work  a 
change  upon  the  operations  and  state  of  the  stomacfi  and  bowels, 
and  particularly  of  the  blood.  Consequently  your  ordinary  way 
of  eating  will  be  interrupted,  and  whelher  you  have  a  good  appe-v 
tile  or  not  you  will  be  denied  the  privilege  and  enjoyment  of  grat- 
ifying it.  The  regular  use  of  wholesome  and  nourishing  food  is 
the  grand  means  by  which  you  have  strength.  This  being  inter- 
rupted and  suspended,  your  strength  will  depart.  The  departure 
cf  this  is  a  very  unpleasant  concomitant  of  disease,  but  it  is  not 
common  for  us  poor  mortals  to  gain  any  good  without  some  sao* 
lifice.  You  must  therefore  consent  to  sacrifice  your  strength  at 
least  for  a  time,  with  the  hope  of  gaining  it  again,  with  better 
health.  With  these  views  and  prospects  then,  I  would  acUise  yoa 
to  follow  the  doctor's  presciiptions,  punctually  and  faithfully  aff 
you  can.  If,  after  you  have  done  so  for  a  time,  you  should  be- 
gin to  conclude  from  your  own  views  and  feelings  and  sufferings, 
(whch  is  very  apt  to  be  the  case)  that  there  is  something  wrong  in 
his  prescriptions,  your  most  prudent  way  is  to  tell  him  minutely 
how  you  feel,  and  how  you  think  the  medicine  has  a  wrong  effect 
»pon  you,  and  ask  him  respectfully  if  he  does  not  think  he  bar? 
better  make  somo  change  in  his  prescriptions.  If  he  is  a  maa 
such  as  he  ought  to  be,  he  will  not  be  too  easily  swerved  by  yout 
opinion,  nor  treat  it  with  too  much  neglect  and  contempt.  But  if  he 
'^Kermine  that  you  must  pursue  them  still  on,  without  any  change, 
.  %Bd  you  submit^  (difficwlt  as  it  may  be,)  all  th§  responsibility 


THE  AFFLICTED.  7l 

^fll  rest  npon  him,  and  if  you  do  not  get  well  he  will^ot  be  able  to 
blame  you.  Jf  you  refuse  to  take  Ins  medicine,  you  resume  the 
business  into  your  own  hands,  and  will  have  to  bear  the  conse- 
quences, whether  for  the  better  or  the  worse.  It  being  the  doctor's 
special  business  to  know  all  that  man  cun  know  about  such  mat*^ 
ters,  it  is  more  proper  that  you  should  yield  to  his  judgment  than 
follow  your  own.  It  is  with  this  view  that  you  employed  him.— 
There  are  very  few  things  which  men  have  to  do  in  which  there  is 
greater  risk  than  in  prescribing  for  the  sick;  yet  it  is  the  duty  of 
some  one  to  do  it.  The  life  of  the  patient  may  depend  upon  it, 
A  little  too  much  medicine  or  a  dose  of  the  wrong  kind,  or  if  it 
be  given  at  an  improper  time,  may  be,  and  often  is,  the  immediate 
cause  of  the  death  of  the  patient. 

Skilful  and  candid  docors  know  this  to  be  true.  They  know 
that  the  doctor  and  not  the  disease,  in  many  cages,  is  the  cause  of 
the  death  of  the  patient.  This  they  see  when  it  is  too  late.  For 
instance,  a  patient  is  very  sick,  the  doctor  examines  him,  his  symp- 
toms are  contradictory  and  confused ;  the  doctor  with  all  his  skill  is 
at  a  loss,  yet  he  must  act.  Something  must  be  done  for  the  pa  tient, 
and  that  without  delay.  All  are  at  a  loss,  (the  doctor  himself  is 
at  a  loss,)  and  perhaps  he  calls  a  council  of  doctors,  and  they  to« 
are  at  a  loss;  nevertheless  they  determine  on  a  certain  dose.-- 
It  is  given — the  patient  dies,  and  from"  the  efiects  of  the  medi- 
cine before  his  death,  the  doctor  sees  plainly  that  the  medicine 
\vas  the  cause.  But  this  fatt  he  will  keep  to  himself  and  not 
communicate  it  to  the  surviving  friends,  unless  they  have  saga- 
city enough  to  discover  it.  And  if  he  should  exercise  much 
candor  and  acknowledge  it,  such  acknowledgment  would  do 
them  no  good  and  would  likely  very  unjustly  injure  his  prac- 
tice. The  case  which  I  have  supposed  was  a  desperate  one,  but 
I  have  no  doubt  that  in  many  which  are  not  desperate,  the  thing 
which  I  say  is  true.  And  true  too,  not  only  in  the  hands  of  quacks, 
but  of  well  informed,  regular  and  skilful  physicians.  In  some 
instances  they  err  through  carelessness  and  negligence,  and  are 
then  greatly  to  blame.  Their  ignorance  in  such  cases  is  a  vinci- 
ble ignorance,  to  w^hich  is  always  attached  a  high  degree  of  crimi- 
nality. But  the  cases  to  which  I  allude  are  those  which  are  so  dark 
and  difficult  that  they  cannot  search  them  out.  They  are  beyond 
the  extent  of  their  discernment.  They  are  ignorant  but  their  ig- 
norance is  invincible,  therefore  they  are  not  to  blame.  Such  is  our 
love  of  life,  and  such  also  our  imperious  duty  to  strive  to  the  ut- 
most to  preserve  it,  that  the  common  sentiment  of  mankind  is,  "as 
long  as  life  lasts  there  is  hope."  They  thjnk  and  sny  that  some- 
thing must  be  attempted  in  the  worst  of  cases.  Not  only  so,  but 
the  m  ixim  and  practice  of  doctors  is,  "never  to  give  up  a  patient 
till  he  is  dead."    They  feel  it  their  duty  therefore,  to  persist  in  doe- 


^  CONSOLATIONS  OP 

ing  somethi^.  If  they  are  at  a  loss  they  judge  as  Well  as  they 
can  and  proceed.  If  tliey  mistake,  and  thereby  the  patient  dies, 
they  cannot  help  it  and  are  not  to  be  blamed.  Who  knows  but  he 
would  have  died  any  liow?  There  are  various  ways  and  means  by 
which  men  die,  and  you  see  th^t  even  the  doctors  are  one,  and  yet 
without  blame.  You  have  always  been  exposed  lo  many  of  those 
ways  of  death.  You  constantly  run  the  risk  of  falling  into  some 
one  of  them.  Disease  is  a  main  one,  and  you  had.  fallen  into  that. 
You  are  now  in  the  hands  of  a  doctor  who  is  sonie  times  another 
way,  though  not  often.  You  must  do  with  him  as  you  have  done 
and  now  do  with  all  other  things  and  causes  which  bring  about 
death.  You  must  feel  as  if  it  were  possible  for  you  to  die  by  any 
of  all  the  means,  yea  even  by  the  doctor.  These  remarks  1  have 
tliought  proper  to  make  to  prepare  your  mind  for  those  dreadful 
and  greatly  dreaded  effects  whicii  medicine  often  has  upon  the  sick. 
It  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  hear  them  say  that  the  medicine  pain- 
ed and  distressed  them  more  than  the  disease.  And  no  doubt,  ia 
many  cases,  this  is  true.  The  medicine  acts  upon  the  same  sys- 
tem that  the  disease  does.  It  is  designed  to  out-act  or  counteract 
the  disease.  Necessarily  it  must  be  the  stronger  of  the  two,  oth- 
erwise it  would  not  overcome,  remove,  and  banish  the  disease. — 
And  this  according  to  the, saying — "when  a  strong  man  armed 
keepeth  his  place,  his  goods  are  in  peace:  But  when  a  stronger 
than  he  shall  come  upon  him,  and  overcome  him,  he  taketh  from 
him  all  his  armor  wherein  he  trusted,  and  divideth  his  spoils.'* — 
Disease  and  medicine  then,  are  to  have  a  contest  within  you,  and 
it  may  be  a  violent  one.  If  so,  in  the  heat  of  it,  you  will  be  very 
apt  to  think  that  instead  of  overcoming  one  another  they  will  over- 
come you. 

This  contest  has  commenced.  Disease  had  talfen  hold  upon- 
you.  Necessity  drove  you  to  attempt  to  break  its  hold,,  by  medi- 
cine prescribed  by  the  doctor.  This  you  deliberately  thought  to 
be  your  wisest  and  safest  course.  And  it  would  certainly  be  very 
unwise  and  cowardly  to  shrink  from  this  course  and  stop  and  turn 
back,  through  fear  of  the  effects  of  medicine,  before  you  had  giv- 
en it  a  fair  and  sufUcient  trial.  Gird  up  your  loins  then,  and  go 
on  with  the  courage  of  the  detertnined  and  the  resolute,  till  you 
are  restored  to  health  or  it  is  fully  and  sntisfactorily  determined 
that  the  medicines  and  regimen  proscribed  by  your  doctor  will 
not  restore  you.  Accordingly  you  do  so.  You  summon  up  all 
your  fortitude  and  resolve  to  swallow  his  drops,  or  powders,or  pills, 
as  he  may  think  best. 

To  submit  to  his  lancet,  or  lie  quietly  under  his  smarting  and 
scorching  blisters,  or,  if  your  case  requite  it,  to  endure  the  keen 
and  deep  penetrations  of  his  sargical  knife,  or  the  harsh  tearing  of 


fiis  ampatatihg  saw.  If  the  amputation  of  a  limb  is  the  pain  to 
which  you  are  called  to  submit,  you  may  soon  recover  from  that  or 
from  a  surgical  opperation  performed  on  the  exterior.  But  if  your 
affliction  is  seated  within,  particularly  on  any  of  the  vital  organs, 
you  will  not  so  likely  be  benefited  by  the  endeavors  of  your  physi- 
cian. 1  shall  proceed  to  consider  you  and  address  you  as  one  of 
the  last  mentioned  unhappy  sons  of  sorrow ;  I  now  view  you  as  hav- 
ing gone  through  a  long,  and  irksome,  and  distressing  course  of 
medicine  and  medical  regimen,  but  all  in  vain.  You  have  pursu- 
ed it,  and  endured  it,  and  groaned  under  it,  till  you  have  now  de- 
termined that  it  is  useless,  and  worse  than  useless  to  proceed  any 
farther.  Your  physician  acquiesces  in  the  measure  and  you  desist. 
But  in  the  most  friendly  manner  he  gives  you  advice  and  directions 
how  to  manage  yourself.  He  tells  you  now,  as  all  well  informed  and 
liberal  minded  physicians  will  do,  that  your  recovery,  or  comfort,  ot 
prolonging  of  life,  depends  chiefly  upon  your  management  of  your- 
self 1  view  you  now  as  out  of  the  doctor''s  hands,  but  following 
his  directions  in  a  general  way.  And  here,  my  friend,  let  me  teli 
you  to  get  all  the  information  from  him  you  can.  You  are  now  to 
be  your  own  doctor,  and  you  canno^be  such  to  any  purpose  without 
a  considerable  experimental  knowledge,  and  at  least  a  little  theore- 
tical. As  you  do  not  expect  to  practise  medicine  on  any  person  but 
yourself,  it  will  be  your  special  business  to  study  your  own  case. — 
•4n  this  study  it  will  be  your  main  aim  to  discover  what  will  relieve 
or  help  you.  I  mean  all  that  can  be  meant  by  this  expression.  Every 
thing  relating  to  your  medicine, — your  diet — your  exercise, — youlP 
rest,— clothing,  and  every  single  particular,  or  course,  (which  is  in- 
nocent,) in  which  you  may  engage  or  indulge.  And,  if  your  cir- 
cumstances will  permit,  you  ought  freely  to  indulge  in  any  of  all 
these,  which  will  in  the  least  contribute  to  your  health  and  com- 
fort, only  avoiding  things  criminal. 

Here  it  may  not  be  improper  for  me  to  descend  to  particulars-. 
With  respect  to  your  medicine,  I  would  observe  in  addition  to 
wiiat  I  have  already  said,  that  it  would  be  well  for  you  to  converse 
with  physicians  werever  you  meet  with  them,  if  they  are  not  too  re- 
served; and  they  will  likely  not  be  so  if  you  tell  them  that  it  was 
not  only  the  permission  but  the  wish  of  your  family  physician. — 
The  reasons  why  they  are  not  free  to  communicate  any  informa- 
tion ihey  have,  are  because  they  do  not  like  to  medle  with  an- 
other's patient,  and  the  idea  of  a  fee  invarably  comes  intotheti- 
head  when  they  are  approached  by  a  sick  person.  Let  them 
know  that  you  have  already  had  a  regular  doctor  and  he  thinks 
best  for  you  henceforth  to  be  your  own  doctor. 

Affei  such  remarks  as  these  they  will  generally  be  free  to  com-, 
mi^nicater    You  will  likely  meet  with  some  one  among  theiu 


74' 


CONSOLATIONS   OF 


who  will  enquire  into  tho  course  your  physician  took  and  {in& 
fault  with  it.  At  the  same  time  he  will  be  very  apt  to  say  that  he 
can  cure  you,  and  will  wish  you  to  become  his  patent.  You  must 
do  as  you  may  think  best  about  this.  It  is  not  very  likely  he  can, 
though  it  is  possible.  It  is  a  very  bad  plan  to  change  physicians, 
especially  if  it  be  done  hastily  and  frequently,  from  one  to  many. — 
It  takes  a  considerable  length,  of  time  for  them  to  become  minutely 
and  acurately  acquainted  with  the  patient's  peculiar  constitution  and 
his  disease.  So  thnt  changing  from  one  to  another  will  rather  be  tri- 
lling with  yourself  You  will  find  old  women  and  quacks  enough 
who  will  readily  and  boldly  declare  that  they  can  cure  you.  They 
and  all  the  conceited  and  presumptuous  ifjnorant  will  be  very  hasty 
to  tell  you  what  will  cure  you.  They  will  express  no  doubt  what- 
ever. O!  they  will  say  *'  these  or  those  herbs  with  which  I  am  ac- 
quainted will  certainly  make  you  a  well  person  in  a  very  short  time." 
Do  not  be  flattered  and  deceived  by  their  vain  declarations.  Be  in- 
dependent, judge  for  yourself.  It  is  not  impossible  however  that 
even  this  class  of  persons  may  mention  some  things  or  herbs  which 
may  be  of  use  to  you.  From  them  therefore,  as  well  as  from  the 
belter  informed,  and  also  from  books,  you  should  pick  up  all  the 
knowledge  you  can,  which  may  have  a  bearing  upon  yourx^ase. 

You  will  no  doubt  hear, of  wonderous  cures  being  performed  by 
different  medicines,  some  of  them  very  simple,  as  one  single  herb. 
And  you  will  even  hear  of  these  from  some  of  our  most  eminent 
physicians,  They  will  report  the  cases  with  all  their  circum- 
stances, telling  how  very  far  the  patients  were  gone  in  chronic 
disorders,  and  how  greatly  but  agreeably  they  were  surprised  to 
see  the  astonishing  effects  of  the  medicine  which  worked  the  med- 
ical miracle.  No  doubt  many  of  these  were  real  cures,  but  per- 
haps unaccountable,  and  not  likely  to  take  place  with  other  patients 
who  seem  to  be  disordered  in  exactly  the  same  way.  There  might 
have  been  some  favorable  but  inscrutable  circumstances  in  the  pa- 
tients thus  restored;  or  their  recovery  might  have  been  by  some 
special  providence.  You  will  likely  see  the  newspapers  abounding 
with  'heir  sovereign  specifics,  nostrums  and  catholicons,  boldly 
aiid  unreservedly  claiming  to  be  certain  and  infallible  remedies. 
Some  for  particular  diseases,  others  for  almost  all.  The  former 
are  bad  enough,  the  latter  are  intolerable.  It  is  very  high  pre- 
sumption for  any  man  to  say  that  his  medicine  is  an  infallible 
remedy  even  for  one  disease,  but  still  higher  for  him  to  say  that  it 
is  a  catholicon,  or  universal  remedy,  sovereign  and  inf  lUible.  Yet 
such  presumption  meets  us  on  almost  every  page  of  our  newspa- 
pers, in  these  days  of  avarice  and  speculation.  There  is  good 
ground  to  belivethat  it  is  the  love  of  money  and  fame,  which 
carowds  a  large  majority  of  these  nostrums  upon  the  public.    I  da 


■PUE  APPLICTED.  7i 

iiiot  say  that  it  is  the  case  with  all.  No  doubt  some  of  them 
come'trom  physicians  who  have  thoroughly  tried  them,  seen 
thier  good  effects,  and  who  honestly  bi^ieve  they  will  be  of  service 
to  the  world.  From  the  best  motives  therefore,  they  send  them  out. 
Their  medicines  may  be  good  (if  you  can  discover  which  thev  are;) 
but  even  they  will  be  apt  to  claim  an  unwarrantable  credit.  I  am 
not  unwilling  to  admit  that  the  medicines  of  the  others  may  h  ive 
some  good  qualities.  Do  not  understand  me  to  say  that  they  may 
be  poisonous  to  such  a  degree  that  it  is  dangerous  to  take  them. 
These  cautions  like  many  of  the  foregoing  I  design  to  keep  you 
from  being  too  s^ngMine  in  your  hopes  and  expectations.  And  I 
feel  it  necessary  to  add  still  another.  The  nosirums  of  which  I 
speak  will  all  come  siipporJed  by  a  large  number  of  certificates.— 
They  will  be  very  imi)osijig  and  make  you  think  that  the  medicine 
will  certainly  cure  you.  Be  not  too  much  el  :tod  with  tiiat  fond 
hope.  I  do  not  advise  you  agninst  using  any  of  the.-e  medicines 
but  only  tell  you  to  be  careful  r.nd  cautious'.  The  safest  will  he 
those  which  hive  performed  their  cures  within  the  compass  of  your 
observation. 

The  reason  why  I  have  thought  it  necessary  to  mike  these  re- 
marks is  this — in  almost  every  case  there  is  something  different 
from  others.  Yr.ur  doctor  examines  you  and  is  best  able  to  dis- 
cover the  peculiarities  both  of  your  constitution  and  your  disease. 
And  if  he  has  the  knowledge  of  the  materia  medica  whiclLhe 
ought  to  have,  he  can  combine  ingredients  to  suit  your  special 
case.  Besides,  for  aught  you  know,  these  ingredients  ra  iy  be  the 
same  or  nearly  the  same  which  the  catholicon  contains. 

I  shall  now  close  my  observations  concerning  physicians  and 
medicine,  by  giving  you  a  general  rule  which  1  shall  ere  long  ap- 
ply to  your  diet.  The  rule  is,  to  watch  most  acutely  and  minutely 
your  own  feelings,  and  the  effects  that  every  particular  medicine 
has  upon  you.  Thus  you  will  discover  what  does  you  the  most 
good,  and  may  continue  its  use,  ' 

The  same  things  might  he  said  with  respect  to  mihi^rar springs, 
which  have  been  said  concerning  medicine.  You  will  he4r  of  them 
performing  astonishing  cures.  They  are' a  good  thing  in  nature 
and  very  strikin-ly  show  the  benevolence  of  God.  They  are  and 
no  doubt  will  continue  to  be  am>ing  the  greatest  earthly  sources 
of  help  and  consolation  for  the  afflicted.  If  your  physician  thinks 
best  and  your  circumstances  will  enable  you,  attend  them,  and 
temperately  and  prudently  use  them,  as  I  have  dii'ected  concern- 
ing your  medicine.  They  generally  do  best  after  taking  medr- 
cine.  With  respect  to  your  clothing,  your  physician  will  direct. 
You  should  have  prudence  and  courage  enough  to  change  it,  not 
only  with  the  changes  of  the  weather,  but  to  suit  your  own  feel- 


in.o[S.  Youv  feelings  will  be  very  cl)angeable  and  much  more  acuie: 
than  when  you  were  in  health.  Every  human  system  is  a  kind  of 
thermometer,  and  is'miich  more  sensible  when  diseased  than  ia 
heilth.  This  ou^ht  to  make  you  unceasingly  vigilant  to  watch 
your  feelings  in  order  to  guard  against  all  injurious  exposures, 

I  come  now  to  speak  on  the  subject  of  your  diet.  This  I  shall 
tell  you  (as  I  think  all  candid  physicians  will  do)  is  the  most  im- 
portant and  powerful  and  promising  thing  which  you  can  use 
to  gain  better  health.  The  well  timed  and  skilful  use  of  diet 
connected  with  proper,  systematic  and  continued  exercise,  with 
Seasonable  rest,  has  often  done  more  than  all  things  else. 

Important  as  the  subject  is,  I  have  but  litile  to  say  on  it.  Much 
Is  said  in  medical  books.  To  them  and  the  medical  faculty 
I  refer  you.  After  giving  you  a  general,  but  comprehensive 
rule,  which  I  found  to  be  the  best  from  my  own  experience  and 
from  the  sentiments  of  physicians  in  general.  The  rule  is  to  try 
all  kinds  of  food  and  most  accu»-ately  observe  what  agrees  with  yoii 
best,  both  in  kind  and  quantity,  and  use  it,  if  you  can  obtain  it. 
The  great  matter  with  the  chronic  patient  is  to  keep  his  l)^>vvels  in 
tone  and  in  motion.  In  almost  every  local  disease  these  have  a 
strong  tendency  either  to  inactivity  or  too  much  activity. 

Universal  experience  has  decided  that  it  is  best,  if  possible,  to 
keep  up  their  tone  and  action  by  diet.  It  is  more  natural  and 
less  injurious  than  medicine. 

Though  I  did  not  design  it,  yet  I  cannot  forbear  saying  a  few 
more  words  on  the  subject  of  diet,  the  speculations  about  which 
at  this  day  are  almost  innumerable — pardon  me  if  1  here  put  in 
one  or  two  with  a  general  conclusion.     It  will  only   be  an  en- 
largement of  what  I  have  already  said.     Man  was  made  to  live 
on  food  both  vegetable  and  animal.     This  appears  in  his  naUird 
oonstiiution  and  in  the  express  words  of  God,  allowing  him  to  eat 
the  flesh  of  other  anim;ils.     His  stomach  is  of  a  definite  size. — r 
When  in  health  it  requires  to  be  filled,  and  often  filled;  and  to 
that  kind  of  food,  vegetable  or  animal,  or  both,  to  which  it  is  most 
accustomed,  the  constit  nil  on  becomes  conformed.  When  ill  health 
takes  place,  the  stomach  cannot  be  filled,  and  regularly  filled,  with- 
out bad  consequences;  but  eating  too  much  or  too  little  in  this 
condition  is  equally  dangerous.     The  patient  should  make  it  his 
aim  to  get  his  stomach  to  receive  again  the  same  kinds  and  quan- 
tities of  food  which  it  formerly  did,  moving  on  from  step  to  step, 
guided  by  the  most  careful  and  strict  observation  and  experience. 
To  effect  this,  he  should  use  any  other  kinds  of  food  he  can  find. 
And  my  observation  and  experience  have  thoroughly  convinced 
me  that  the  proverb  "what's  on^^  man's  meat  is  another  man's  poi- 
k)n,"  IS  really  true.    Therefore,  neither  I  nor  any  other  man  can 


trili    APPLT'JTED. 


^> 


gTve  any  1)etter  rule  than  tIio  one  cr'iven  above,  to  use  both  in  kind 
and  qviantiiv,  whatever  agrees  with  you  best. 

Next  to  diet  comes  exercise.     No  less  skill  and  prudence  are 
required,  than  in  the  use  of  diet,  and   much  more  iorlitnde.     In 
taking  lx»th,  there  should  be  neither  too  much  nor  too  lil'le.  and 
each  ai  its  proper  time.     It  is  not  aood  to  rake  exercise  immedi- 
ately afier  a  meal,  particularly  dinner.     AOer  exercise  comes  rest^ 
v.'hich  is  next  in  importance.     Yon  sbr,nld  rrst  m<ich  oPencr  than 
v.hen  in   health.     In   all  these  things  your  doctor  will  be  your 
counsellor.     1  have  swallowed  an  al>»urdince  of  medicine,  but 
you  will  peimit  me  to  close  rdl  I  have  to  s  ly  concerning  the  doc- 
tor, me<licine  and  regimen,  by  observing  that  [  have  received  moie 
benefit  from  diet,  exercise  and  rest,  than  all  earthly  thmgs  beside, 
I  feel  it  necessary  to  warn  you  against  discouragement  and  des- 
pair.    Proceeding;  as  you  are  at  this  time,  these  will  be  peculiarly 
fatid  to  you.     Remember  you  are  now  your  own  doctor.     If  you 
give   up  the   patient,  he  is  gvone..   You  will  not   forget  that   if 
the  patient  is  neglected,  or  abused,  or  suffers,  or  dies,  the  patient 
is  yourself.     Discouragement  then,  being  thus  fatal,  you  should 
brace  up  and  guard  against  it  in  every  possible  way  that  is  justifia- 
ble.    Lf  t  no  liule  bick-set,  nof  even  great  ones,  cause  you  to  de- 
spond to  snch  a  degree  as  to  make  you  become  less  vigilant  in 
watching  your  svmptoms  and  in  exerting  yourself  to  the  utmost, 
to  regain  what  you  have  lost.     Not  onFy  so,  but  to  advance  on  to 
a  d:  gree  of  comfortable,  if  not  perfect  health.     It  is  unwise,  and 
vam,'and  full  of  self  deception,  to  hope  and  strive  after  things  be- 
yond our  reach,  and  altogether  improbable  if  not  impossible.     It 
is  scarcely  possible  for  a  person  who  has  labored  a  length  of  time 
under  a  severe,  or  even  moderate  local  disorder, particularly  if  it  is 
seated  within,  upon  the  vitals,  to  become  entirely  well.     Perhaps 
it  will  be  presumption  for  you   to  expect  restoration  to  perfect 
soundness  and  strength.     But  desperate  as  your  case  may  be,  ne- 
arer loose  sight  of  improving  it.     Ever  indulge  and  cherish   th^ 
fond  hope  that  you  will  get  better  and  better,  till  vou  will  again 
enjoy,  at  least,  a  comfortable  degree  of  heabh.     Health !  health? 
Universally  acknowledged  to  be  the  greatest  earthly  blessing  ! 

O  health!  health!  lovely,  blissful,  heaven-born  health! 
S  y,  who  is  he  can  tell  thy  matchless  worth? 
Not  he  with  whom  thou^st  been  a  constant  guest; 
In  all  thy  beauty  blooming  on  his  chet^k, 
And  clothing  all  his  frame  with  grace  ?nd  strength. 
Though  thou  art  his,  to  him  thou  art  htile  known; 
For  thee  he  never  siphed,  nor  prayed,  nor  strove, 
S^or  paid  a  price;  e'en  with  him  thou  wast  born; 
7 


■^^  €/>]VSOLATIONa   O* 

And  to  him,  free  as  vital  air,  hast  been. 

Just  like  the  ceaseless  heaving  of  his  lungs 

While  he  is  lost  in  slumbers  of  the  night, 

Nor  thinks,  nor  even  wills  to  breathe,  yet  breathes- 

If  breath  be  lost,  he  dies,  yet  knows  it  not; 

Its  worth  is  vast  and  vital,  yei  unknown. 

Thus  thou  art  precious,  yet  thy  worth  not  known. 

Thy  living  excellence,  he  cannot  tell.  { Feb.  1, 1829, 

Who  then  can  tell  ?  can  he  who  oft  hath  heard   ( Sabbath  ev'gi 

His  fellows  groan  in  healtliless  misery? 

Whose  eyes  have  wept  to  see  the  feeble  sick  ? 

Whose  tender  hands  have  raised  the  sinking  head^ 

And  long  and  faithful  nursed  a  lingering  friend, 

Tiir  death  removed  his  sad  and  mournful  charge 

And  closed  his  kind  and  sympathetic  work? 

Can  he  pronounce  tliy  ricli,  intrinsic  worth. 

And  tell  the  whole  amount  of  what  thou  art? 

Not  he — 'tis  not  himself— he  sees  an<i  feels: 

But  know,  the  feeling  is  but  sympathy; 

However  much  he  feels,  he  Cinmot  ftel. 

The  loss,  the  cruel  pain,  are  not  his  own, 

Nor  can  they  be,  however  dear  the  friend, 

Brother,  sister,  husband,  wife  or  child. 

Although  he  thinks  he  feels  the  keenest  pang, 

Yet,  when  the  syfferer  speaks,  he  tells  him,  no, 

And  when  he's  sick  himself,  he  finds  it  true. 

Say,  say,  who  then,  O  health!  beloved  health! 

Can  Safely,  truly  speak,  thy  real  worth? 

None  else,  but  him,  who  deeply  mourns  thy  lossj 

Whom  thou  hast  left  with  all  thy  happy  train, 

Good  appetite,  digestion  good,  good  pulse. 

Good  color,  fresh  and  red,  with  sparkling  eye, 

Elastic  muscle  too,  with  active  limbs; 

Firm  strength,  freely  to  walk,  or  ride,  or  work ; 

And  well  toned  nerves,  with  feelings  good  all  o'e|^ 

From  feeling's  centre  down  throughout  the  man; 

A  mind  com[)osed  and  strong  to  reason  well; 

Both  soul  and  body,  able  to  receive 

Life's  every  joy,  and  feel  it  good  to  live. 

When  thou  with  all  thy  glorious  train  art  gon^, 

He  is  indeed  forsaken  and  forlorri. 

Philosophei-s  contend,  whether  of  not. 

In  nature's  vast  domain,  a  void  he  found. 

Some  suy  there  is,  some  not,  no  vacuum. 

Be  that  just  as  it  may-— one  thing  we  know. 


THE  AFFLICTBD. 

As  soon  as  thou  and  thine,  forth  from  him  come, 

Alas!  another  frightful  train  rush  in. 

This  awful  train  is  he^ed  by  disease. 

The  train  consists  of  opposites  to  health's; 

Bid  appetite,  digestion  bad,  bad  pulse, 

Bad  color,  pale  and  white,  with  sickly  eye. 

The  muscles  nonelastic  now,  with  feeble  limbs,  } 

No  strength,  freely  to  walk,  or  ride,  or  work; 

And  ill  toned  nerves,  with  feelings  bad  all  o'er, 

From  feeling's  centre  down  throughout  the  man; 

A  mind  confused  and  weak  to  reason  now, 

Body  and  soul  unable  to  receive 

Life's  any  joy,  and  feel  it  hard  to  live. 

Sweet  peace  and  comfort  far  away  have  fled,  ^ 

Life's  dear  enjoyments  too,  have  winged  their  flighty' 

Indeed  he's  sadly  lost  life's  better  half. 

He  suffers,  groans  and  pines,  but  does  not  live, 

The  man's  whole  being  is  disturbed,  distressedi 

n'isthus  he  learns,  and  in  this  only  way 

What  health  is  worth;  to  him  thesecre'.'s  knowri; 

Ask  him ;  his  tongue  can  speak  without  mistake-,- 

Nor  is  he  likely  to  exaggenite; 

Indeed,  that  is  almost  impossible; 

He'll  price  it  high,  but  not  above  its  worth, 

Unless  he  goes  beyond  what  life  is  worth. 

Ye  blooming  daughters!  and  ye  sons  of  health! 

In  gentle  silence  lend  a  listening  ear, 

In  plaintive  strains  he'll  tell  you  what  he's  lost'; 

Be  kind,  O  treat  him  not  with  harsh  neglect! 

His  broken  heart  is  tender  and  sincere, 

Nought  else  but  truth  can  from  his  lips  escape. 

In  patience  listen  to  his  tale  of  wo,  ^ 

Thit  you  may  sympathise  and  profit  too. 

With  all  his  heart  he'll  urge  you  to  preserve 

With  anxious  care  and  ceaseless  vigilance, 

Lidul^ent  heav'n's  high  gift  to  you,  good  health. 

When  round  his  pale  emaciated  frame 

You  chance  to  stand,  and  he  observes  you  there, 

Lifts  up  his  drooping  head  with  grief  weighed  dowif, 

Turns  round,  and  opening  wide  his  sunken  eye<3, 

Beholds,  with  wishful,  longing,  steadfast  gaze 

All  lovelv,  charming  health,  in  full  array, 

Displnyed,  upon  your  cheerful,  s-niling  cheeks^ 

Then  look,  attend  and  learn^  this  is  the  time. 

His  eyes  and  every  feature  of  his  face 


^  UO^SOLATIOKS    fjh 

The  feelings  of  his  grief-worn  soul  express  j 
.    His  sorrows  burst,  and  loud  his  tonnue  exclainjir 
O  friends!  O  friends!  Alas, ah  vvretched  mel. 
Time  was,  and  truly  happy  was  the  time, 
Wjien  in  the  flowing  fountain  of  my  life 
Good  health  its  proper,  central  place  retained, 
And  thence  diffused  its  genial  happy  self 
Throughout  the  long  and  circling  streams  of  lifcj 
And  as  it  moved  along  those  little  streams, 
Most  fieely  gave,  salubrity  and  strength 
To  every  fibre  of  my  wondrous  frame. 
To  bloody  and  flesh,  and  bones,  from  head  to  fbof, 
And  filled  my  soul  with  pleasure  and  delight; 
Dear  friends!  this  is  the  good  that  I  have  lost. 

My  dear  afilicied  friend,  I  have  thus  attempted  to  give  you,  iu 
poetry,  some  faint  description  of  what  good  health  is.  No  doubt- 
you  can  nmch  better  conceive  and  realize  what  it  is,  than  1  can 
describe  it.  You  feel  it  to  be,  as  I  have  biid,  the  greatest  earthly 
blessing.  Though  you  are  deprived  of  it  to  a  considerable  de- 
gree, it  may  not  be  totally  and  finally  gone  from  you.  You  are 
not  to  suffer  yourself  to  think  so. 

it  is  the  great  good,  the  chief  temporal  good.  The  more  valu- 
able a  thing  is,  the  greater  should  be  our  exertions  to  obtain  it,  if 
it  is  obtainable  even  in  part.  It  is  against  discouragement,  that 
I  am  endeavoring  to  caution  you,  and  stimulate  you.  Our  frame 
is  truly  wonderful.  The  more  minutely  and  accurately  it  is  ex- 
amined by  the  penetrating  eye  of  science,  the  more  dee^jly  are  we 
impressed  with  the  force  of  the  inspired  exclamation — "I  am  fear* 
fully  and  wonderfully  mnde."  And  there  is  perhaps  nothing  more 
wonderful  about  our  frame  than  tliat  operation  by  which  a  remov- 
ed part  is  restored  and  an  un'-^ound  part  becomes  sound.  It  is  tru- 
ly  astonishing  to  see  how  completely,  large  and  dreadful  wounds 
have  he<iled.  And  instances  are  not  rare  of  patients  recovering 
fVom  very  low  stages  of  consumption  and  other  alarming  chronic 
disorders.  I  exhort  you  therefore,  most  earnestly  to  keep  good 
courage.  When  you  feel  like  fulling  into  despair,  set  your  mind 
to  thinking  how  much  better  you  are  at  this  time  than  you  have 
been  at  some  former  time.  And  if  you  are  not  better  perhaps  you 
are  no  worse,  and  if  no  worse,  yt)u  may  conclude  that  you  will 
get  along  as  well  as  you  have  done.  li^  when  you  were  this  bad 
before,  you  were  not  discouraged,  try  to  have  as  good  courage  now 
as  yoM  then  had.  And  even  if  you  are  worse  than  you  ever  were, 
don'-  forget  that  you  have  always  hitherto  got  better  afer  bad  spells,. 
fSnel  you  may  even  after  this.     You  have  never  yet  died,  but  per- . 


THE   AFFLICTE1>.  8j 

haps  you  thought  that  some  of  your  former  ill  turns  or  back-sets 
would  take  you  off".  It  seems  they  did  not;  and  if  you  think  this 
will,  you  miy  be  mistaken.  Man  can  both  endure  much  and  en- 
dure long.  Tiius  by  comparing  yourself  with  yourself  at  different 
periods,  you  maybe  instructed,  consoled  and  encouraged. 

This  leads  me  to  another  general  source  of  consolation:  I 
mean  the  employment  of  comp  iring  yourself  with  others  who  are 
afflicted.  To  this  your  mind  will  be  naturally  drawn  out.  Such 
is  the  nature  of  your  disease,  being  of  the  slow  gradual  kind,  that 
you  may  deliberately  mdulge  in  this  exercise  as  frequently  and  to 
as  great  extent  as  you  please.  Douhtless  there  are  many  sons  and 
daughters  of  afflxtion  around  you,  and  many  of  them  diseased 
as  you  are,  and  you  have  often  seen  such  in  past  life.  To  these 
you  will  do  well  to  turn  your  thoughts.  It  is  one  of  the  most 
promising  sources  to  which  you  can  look.  If  is  very  well  calcu- 
lated to  support  your  courage  and  brighten  your  hopes.  You  will 
be  able  to  engage  in  it  altogether  more  leisurely  and  more  exten- 
sively than  the  patient  described  in  the  form'^r  part  of  this  work, 
who  was  seized  by  a  periodical  and  violent  illness.  You  are  not 
like  him  confined  to  your  bed  nor  to  yoir  room.  And  you  have 
strength,  at  least  at  times,  to  go  out  and  see  your  fellow  men  and 
occasionally  mingle  in  the  busy  crowd.  As  you  pass  along,  be 
careful  to  look  at  their  countenances,  and  if  you  are  not,  truly, 
very  bad,  you  will  see  many  as  pale  as  yourself.  Very  likely  if 
you  look  attentively  you  will  see  more  of  these  that  are  paler  than 
of  those  that  have  a  fresher  and  more  healthful  color.  When  yoa 
see  the  n,  never  forget  to  observe  how  they  move  along — what  kmd 
of  a  countenance  they  exhibit — -whether  they  appear  cheerful  or 
not.  When  you  have  opportunity  fall  into  conversation  with  them, 
arhl  listen  to  the  account  they  may  give  of  their  case.  Take  spe- 
cial notice  of  the  description  which  they  will  give  of  their  symp- 
toms and  their  sufferings,  especially  every  thing  that  seems  to  be 
worse  th  m  yours.  Yours  will  indeed  l^e  an  unheard  of  case  if 
you  should  not  meet  with  many  worse  than  yourself.  Whenever 
you  do,  there  will  then  be  an  ohject  presented  to  your  view  calcu- 
lated to  make  you  draw  a  conclusion  in  your  own  favor.  Do  not 
fdil  to  get  them  to  say  during  your  conve-s  ition,  in  what  manner 
they  move  on,  what  things  or  circumstances  they  seize  hold  of  to 
stimulate  and  encourage  thern,  and  to  enable  them  to  bear  up  un- 
der the  pressure  of  their  afflictions.  Perhaps  they  may  mention 
some  things  that  you  have  not  thought  of.  If  they  do,  carefully 
treisure  them  up  in  your  mind,  that  you  may  bring  them  to  your 
aid  in  times  of  still  sorer  trials,  if  they  await  you. 

In  your  excursions  out  f  om  home,  there  will  l)e  no  impropriety 

in  your  visiti  )g  all  classes  of  persons  that  are  aflllicLed,  tlie  rieh 

7* 


02  C«\$0LATIJ3>-§  OF 

and  the  poor,  the  virtuous  and  the  vicious.  Fjom  each  of  these 
yoii  may  ^nthei  items  of  iuforniation  :ind  circumstances  for  conso- 
iafion.  VVlien  you  are  in  the  presence  of  an  afflicted  rich  nii'ii, 
you  will  hive  an  opportunity  of  seeing  to  what  extent  riciies  will 
go  i)i  aiding  the  atilicte<l.  If  he  be  virtuous  and  patient,  his  rich- 
es will  be  of  great  service  to  him.  If  he  kn(;w  hew  tokeep-hrm 
in  their  plyce,  ^hey  will  have  a  very  appropriaie  phice  duiing  the 
days  of  his  affliction.  But  if  the  contiary  of  al.  this  be  the  f  ict, 
§£  they  be  his  idol,  you  will  see  that  they  are  a  god  that  can  aid 
l)ut  little  m  the  hour  of  trouble.  If  when  you  visit  him  you  find 
that  he  has  been,  and  is  now,  trusting  in  ^his  god,  you  will  lik«  ly 
£ud  him  also  very  peevish  and  freiful,  scolding  his  servants,  and 
complaining  of  all  around  him.  Wliile  you  are  with  him  open 
both  your  eyes  and  both  your  ears,  that  if  possible  you  m;ty  dis- 
cover something  about  him,  either  good  or  b:^d,  frou)  which  you 
may  take  occasion  to  congratulate  and  console  yourself.  But 
you  will  be  much  more  apt  to  be  benefitted  when  you  visit  the 
poor  man  in  affliction.  You  will  be  much  more  likely  to  find  pie- 
ty and  patience,  and  a  disposition  to  have  a  favorable  view  of  all 
the  dealings  of  Providence  over  him.  He  will  be  deeply  affected 
with  his  entire  dependence  on  God,  and  will  be  stongly  inclined  tg 
©onsider  all  things  working  togetlier  for  his  own  good.  When 
you  are  in  his  ili-furnished  cabin  or  hut,  and  see  the  nakedness  of 
the  place  and  the  pinching  hand  of  poverty  upon  him,  mark  well 
the  appearance  of  his  countenance,  and  catch  every  word  that 
♦Irops  from  his  palid  humble  lips.  The  poorer  he  is  and  the  more 
lesigned  and  contented  he  seems,  the  more  you  will  be  profited  by 
jour  visit.  It  would  by  no  means  be  amiss  for  yoii  to  seek  out 
the  very  poorest,  whom  affliction  has  made  still  poorer,  and  make 
it  your  special  business  to  go  and  see  how  much  worse  their  case 
is  than  yours.  Should  y.ni  do  this  with  a  proper  motive  and  spi- 
lit,  the  contrast  which  you  will  behold  will  be  of  very  great  ser- 
vice to  ennbleyou  to  bear  up  and  keep  good  heart.  Ii  will  not  bo 
any  consolation  to  you  that  they  are  worse  tlrnn  you,  but  your  con- 
S(j1  ttion  will  be,  that  bad  as  you  are,  you  are  not  as  had  as  they. — 
And  this  more  specially  when  you  visit  the  vicious  in  affliction, 
■whose  afflictions  have  perhaps  been  brought  on  by  their  vices — 
i'leir  crimes  and  wickedness.  In  their  presence  you  will  be  in  the 
presence  of  the  most  wretched  object  on  earth,  and  your  thankful- 
ness to  God  for  keeping  you  back  from  open  vices  and  crimes  will 
he  very  much  excited. 

When  it  falls  to  your  lot  to  be  with  the  virtuous  who  are  afflict' 
ed,  whose  tongue,  like  your  own,  "speaks  the  binguage  of  Ca- 
jaaan,"  whose  heart  is  warm  with  love,  strong  with  fiith  and  an- 
■^ored  by  that  hope  which  is  the  anchor  of  the  soul  both  sure  aiid 


Tllli   AFFLiCTEfB.  ©3 

^adfast,  yoa  may  hf;ar  things,  see  sigljts,  and  learn  lessons  wfiicb 
it  is  possible,  will  be  of  sig  lal  advanttge  to  you.  In  every  case? 
in  wiiicli  you  have  contiereiice  with  the  afflicted,  do  not  merely 
compare  yourself  with  them,  but  listen  to  the  accounts  which 
they  or  any  of  them  may  give  of  those  whom  they  may  h  ive  seen 
either  in  as  bad  or  worse  condition  than  either  you  or  tfiemselves.  If 
they  tell  of  some  wiio  were  manifes  ly  worse,  but  go?  better,  for- 
get not  lo  take  encouragement  ;  l^t  a  more  lively  hojje  burn  iq 
your  breast,  that  you  too  will  get  better. 

7'he  doctors  will  l^e  able  to  bring  to  your  view  a  multitude  of 
cases  when  vou  converge  with  them.  In  short,  almost  all  persons 
but  especially  the  ignorant,  will  be  very  much  inclined  to  commu' 
iiicate  to  you  any  information  of  the  kind.  Humanity  in  the 
breast  of  men  must  be  extinguishf'd  in  a  very  considerable  degree, 
if  they  have  no  feeling  for  the  afflicted,  'i'hey  will  feel  for  you 
when  you  meet  with  them,  and  it  will  be  their  hearts  desire  to  tell 
you  something  that  will  do  you  good.  Therefore  be  patient  to 
li-sten  to  the  stories  even  of  the  loquacious  ignorant,  yes,  and  be 
thankful  to  hear  them.  It  will  scarcely  be  possible  for  them  te 
talk  a  great  deal  witiiout  saying  something  either  of  tliemselves  or 
others  which  you  can  turn  to  your  own  advantage  in  some  way. 
It  will  at  least  furnish  matter  to  employ  your  mind,  and  tiiusturs 
your  attention  off  from  your  own  woes,  which  you  should  even  en» 
deavor  to  do,  and  not  let  your  mind  bropd  over  them. 

Your  intercourse  may  possibly  be  more  extended,  than  the  cir- 
cle of  your  immediate  neighborhood.  Nothing  is  more  commoH 
in  clironic  cases  than  for  physicians  to  advise  the  patient  to  take  a 
journey.  Shotild  you  receive  such  advice  and  be  able  to  do  it,  a 
great  variety  of  scenes  and  of  characters  will  fall  under  your  no- 
tice. As  you  pass  along  the  road,  you  will  likely  meet  with  the 
sons  and  daughters  of  affliction  in  all  places.  You  will  hear  of 
•thers,  and  thus  will  have  brought  to  the  view  of  your  mind  a  vast 
Kiultitude  with  whom  you  may  compare  yourself  When  you  see 
those  worse  than  yourself,  do  not  forget  to  be  thankful  that  you 
are  not  as  bid  as  they.  You  may  say  to  yourself — *'pooi  creatures! 
poor  fellows!  I  am  not  as  bad  as  you  are,  and  hope  1  never  shall 
be,  if  it  please  God;  and  may  the  day  come,  when  you  will  be  as 
well  as  I  am,  and  even  better."  When  you  see  or  hear  of  these 
who  have  been  as  bad  and  got  better,  I  have  already  told  you  the 
•onclusion  to  draw.  Be  more  careful  to  find  out  cases  of  these 
•whose  circumstances  have  brightened,  than  of  those  round  whom 
the  clouds  of  adversity  have  thickened.  That  thus  you  may  fm 
the  flint  and  languishina  flame  of  hope  in  your  own  breast,  strength- 
en vour  courage,  elevate  and  enliven  your  spirits,  overcome  your 
^seose,  and  eventually  stand  forth  a  persoli  of  health  and  stren^tJ] . 


'^\  eONSOLATlONS   OF 

Whether  you  are  able  to  go  out  or  not,  but  especially  if  you 
are  not,  books  will  be  a  greai  help  to  bring  you  to  your  view  the 
trying  conditions  of  otiiors.  Tliose  which  contain  tije  histories 
of  past  ages  will  be  best  adapted  to  serve  you  in  this  respect.  Not 
rn;iny  of  them,  if  any,  will  descend  to  so  minute  particulars,  as 
to  detail  the  exact  circumstances  of  individuals  who  have  groan- 
ed a  number  of  years  under  distressing  chronic  diseases.  Some 
ffcw  m«y,  and  they  will  chiefly  be  those  which  belong  to  the  phy- 
sician's library.  Some  hisloi'ies  may  give  the  cases  of  kings,  and 
potentates,  and  nobles,  and  other  men  of  note.  All  histories,  pro- 
perly so  called,  will  rehearse  to  you  those  kinds  of  afflictions  which 
are  peculiar  to  war.  They  abound  with  the"  horrentia  Martis,^ 
the  horrors  of  war.  Indeed  they  are  little  else  but  war  tales,  tales 
of  war  and  wo.  They  will  bring  to  your  view  awful  scenes  of 
blood-shed  and  carnage.  Let  your  mind  dwell  upon  one  of  the 
scenes.  When  you  read  the  history  of  a  battle  in  which  many 
thousands  were  killed,  let  your  ihoughts  move  along  slowly  from 
the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  dreadful  sight ;  from  the  throwing 
of  the  first  dart,  or  the  firing  of  the  first  gun,  not  only  to  the  bury- 
ing of  the  last  man  on  the  battle  ground,  but  till  the  last  wound- 
ed man  arrives  again  at  his  own  home.  After  this  scene  shall  have 
arisen  to  your  view  in  all  the  frightfulness  of  its  unspeakable  hor- 
rors— afier  you  shall  have  contemplited  it  at  length,  stood  and 
viewed  thousands  and  ten  tliousands  dying,  and  seen  hundre^ds  up- 
on h  mdreds  wounded,  and  mangled,  and  felt  your  heart  torn  with 
the  doleful  groans  of  the  wounded  and  the  dying — after  vou  shall 
ave  followed  the  wounded  and  the  sick  into  their  miserable  hos- 
pitals, and  seen  their  rough  nursing,  in  tlie  hands  of  rude  and  har- 
dy fellow  soldiers,  who  are  much  better  taught  to  handle  the  weap- 
ons of  war,  and  furiously  to  take  the  lives  of  men,  than  neatly 
and  properly  to  prepare  suitable  and  delicate  f<>od  for  the  sick, 
and  tenderly  raise  the  sinking  head — after  >ou  shall  have  viewed 
them  in  this  deplorable  condition,  unattended  by  a  loving  sister, 
yno^her  or  wife,  receiving  not  one  kind  act  or  enlivening  smile  from 
a  dear  and  beloved  female,  and  not  only  bring  destitute  of  deli- 
rate  food  suitable  fjr  the  sick,  but  of  all  kinds  of  food,  so  as  to 
he  starving  withal — afer  you  shall  have  ilius  viewed  them  suffer- 
ing, groaning,  languishing  and  sinking  into  the  cold  arms  of  death, 
then  pause  and  reflfct  how  much  more  you  are  flivored  than  they. 
In  this  comparison  you  cannot  fail  to  have  a  conclusion  in  your 
own  f^ivor.  May  18th,  1829. 

It  is  to  books  that  T  am  directing  your  attention  for  consolation, 
pnrticiib-rly  to  f  riiish  you  vvi»h  examples  of  affliction.  The  Bi- 
We  is  decidedly  uad  unquestionably  the  best. book  that  man  has  to 


THE   AFFLICTED.  ^'^ 

ijeaiJ,  and  even  on  this  subject  it  is  the  best.  It  abounds  with  hipr- 
lories  of  the  aiflicted,  and  gives  many  cases  of  the  pious  afflicted, 
^nd  tells  us  how  they  bore  it.  In  addition  to  this  it  brings  to  view 
the  most  effectual  relief  for  them.  It  brings  to  view  the  Great 
God,  their  Creator,  undertaking  on  their  behalf,  counseling  them 
how  to  view  and  how  to  bear  their  afflictions,  and  in  a  multitude 
of  instances,  presc  nts  to  our  minds  the  Divine  Saviour  kindly  ex- 
erting his  godlike  power  to  deliver  and  restore  them.  He  healed 
all  manner  of  diseases. 

To  this  book  then,  lo  the  Bible,  I  would  modt  seriously  and  most 
warmly  direct  your  attention.  1  do  not  forget  that  your  case  ig 
different  from  that  of  the  person  described  in  the  beginning  of  my 
book.  You  have  leisure  deliberately  to  give  your  mind  to  the 
trading  of  the  scriptures  and  to  meditation,  not  only  on  the  cases 
®f  afflicted  ])ersons  mentioned  by  them,  but  on  what  they  say  for 
the  afflicted.  Youmiiy  meditate  at  any  length  on  the  case  of  Job, 
and  with  greater  cure  and  (exactness,  compare  your  condition  with 
his.  In  like  manner  with  all  others  mentioned  in  the  old  and  ne\V 
Testaments. 

Since  the  fall  of  man,  the  world  has  always  been  an  afflicted 
world.  All  kinds  of  afflictions  have  prevailed,  both  periodical 
and  chronic.  In  the  days  of  the  Saviour's  tabernacling  on  earth 
it  was  so.  His  grand  erVand  into  the  world  was  to  save  sinners— 
to  save  the  souls  of  rnen.  But  he  appeared  to  be  equally  devoted 
to  saving  their  bodies.  <'He  opened  the  eyes  of  the  blind,  unstop- 
ped the  ears  of  the  deaf,  the  lame  man  leaped  as  a  hart  and  the 
tongue  of  the  dumb  did  sing.  Great  multitudes  came  unto  hino, 
having  with  them  those  that  were  lame,  blind,  dumb,  maimed, 
and  many  others,  and  he  healed  them."  "He  went  about  all  their 
cities  and  villages,  teachino  in  their  synagogues,  and  preaching 
the  gospel  of  the  kingdom,  and  healing  all  manner  of  sicknc^' 
and  all  manner  of  diseases  among  the  people." 

Diseases  of  short  continuance  and  those  of  long  duration. — . 
From  burning  fevers  and  fatal  leprosies  which  rage  but  for  a  few 
days,  to  issues  of  blood  of  twelve  years  standing,  and  infirmities 
which  bowed  down  the  poor  sufferers  for  eighteen  years— not  these 
only,  but  long  standing  dropsies,  palsies,  withered  hands,  luna- 
cies [or  epileptic  fits,]  and  all  manner  of  chronic  diseases,  such 
as  yours.  Bui  perhaps  you  ask  me  how  it  is  possible  for  you  to 
derive  consolaMon  from  the  fact  that  the  Saviour  did  in  tho  days 
of  his  flesh,  heal  all  these  kinds  of  diseases  and  restore  those  th;»t 
were  lield  by  tliem  to  health  and  comfort,  seeing  he  does  not  do 
it  now?  I  answer,  these  miraculous  cures  were  not  j)erformed  mere 
ly  for  the  benefit  of  those  on  whom  they  were  performed,  but  for 
tjje  advantage  of  all  those  who  should  believe  tlut  the  Saviotu^ 


S4  CiKsSOLATIONS   OF 

possessed  power  to  work  them,  and  that  lie  actually  did,  without 
deceplion,  work  them  as  is  recorded  in  the  scriptures. 

He  healed  and  restored  the  bodies  of  men,  to  prove  that  he  could 
heal  and  restore  their  souls.  Men  in  this  world  are  better  ac- 
quainted with  their  bodies  than  with  their  spirits.  Therefore  the 
Saviour  wrought  specially  upon  their  bodies  to  show  his  power  and 
willingness  to  deliver  and  save  both  their  souls  and  bodies,  and 
this  not  only  in  a  temporal  but  eternal  point  of  view.  His  great 
object  WHS  to  save  the  souls  of  men,  their  better  parts,  but  not  to 
the  total  neglect  of  their  bodies.  No,  as  I  have  shown  above,  he 
had  comp.issson  upon  their  bodies  also,  even  in  this  world.  And 
he  fully  published  his  determination  that  they  should  not  be  lost, 
€>r  wfJiiting  in  the  world  to  come.  But  even  the  "vile  bodies  of 
the  Saints  here,  should  there  be  fashioned  like  unto  his  glorious 
body.^' 

The  consolation  which  I  expect  you  to  take  from  the  {act  of 
♦he  Saviour's  great  kindness  to  the  afflicted  in  his  day,  is  of  this  na- 
ture. It  is  by  your  taking  this  broad,  extensive  view  of  the  sul> 
ject,  and  your  taking  this  view  as  a  christain,  a  firm  believer  in 
the  Saviour  and  in  his  dete»'mi nations  and  promises.  I  do  not 
mean  loencoumge  you  to  expect  that  he  will  in  any  such  miracu- 
lous way  interpose  for  you.  I  expect  you  to  receive  consolation 
from  this  source  through  faith  and  hope,  in  the  way  that  no  per- 
son can  obtian  consolation- nut  upon  christain  principles.  Though 
none  others  can,  yet  the  christain  can.  And  not  only  consolation 
but  great  consolation.  Therefore,  by  letting  your  mind  dwell  up- 
on the  multitude  of  instances  in  which  the  Saviour  delivered  the 
afflicted,  and  recollecting  that  he  refused  to  heal  no  one  who  came 
unto  him,  or  was  brought  unto  him  on  beds  or  otherwise,  or  whose 
friends  came  to  him  beseeching  him  to  heal  them;  and  also  bear- 
ing in  mmd  that  he  did  it  even  at  a  distance,  merely  by  speaking 
a  word;  and  no  less  viewing  and  believing  that  he  will  without  fil 
fulfil  his  precious  promise  to  all  his  afflicted  followers,  that  their 
afflictions  should  o^^ime  to  an  end,  and  be  succeeded  by  perfect 
happiness, you  may  receive  consolation,  abundant,  "everlasting 
Gonsolatifjn,  and  good  hope  through  grace."  Was  he  peculiarly 
tlie  afflicted  man's  friend  and  restorer  while  on  earth,  whatever 
was  the  character  of  the  afflicted  person,  virtuous  or  vicious, 
whether  he  believed  he  was  the  Saviour  of  the  world  or  not  ?  Did 
ho  heal  those  who  did  not  recognise  him  as  the  Saviour  of  the 
world,  the  great  friend  of  sinners,  those  who  did  not  embrace  and 
trust  in  and  love  him  as  their  own  friend  and  Saviour?  Did  he 
heal  ten  lepers,  and  out  of  the  ten  was  there  only  one  who  returned 
to  express  his  gratitude  and  to  glorify  God?  And  has  he  no  ff)e\. 
hg  for  lou  his  disciple^  a  christain,,  tlwu^h  he  is  now  exalt^v 


IHfi    AKFLTUTE*.  ^^' 

'*  far  above  all  principality  and  power?  The  apogee  tells  U3  (hat 
our  higlir  priest  has  passed  into  ihe  heavens."  And  what  more, 
my  fii«^nd?  That  "  Ave  have  not  a  high  priest  which  cannot  bo 
touched  with  a  feeling  of  our  infirmities."  He  is  touched  with  a 
feeling  of  your  infiruiities  tiien,  my  dear  afflicted  friend.  Yoa 
rmiy  look  away  to  iiim,  wiih  an  earnest,  believing  steady  look,  not 
meiely  remembering  what  iie  once  did  for  the  poor  sons  and 
daughters  of  affliction,  but  viewing  him  as  looking  down  upon  you 
perpetually,  touched  with  your  infirmities,  feehng  your  pfiins,  and 
having  a  full  determination  to  support  you  under  them,  and  in  due 
time,  at  the  appointed  time,\vhen  their  end  shall  come,  like  the  end 
of  his  came,  to  deliver  you  fr-m  them  and  take  yon  up  to  himself. 

1  have  now,  my  friend,  said  what  1  have  to  s^y  on  the  subject  of 
comparing  yourself  witli  others,  who  are  or  hive  been  afflicted.—^ 
The  course  which  I  pursued  natmally  led  me  on  to  those  who  la- 
bored under  longstanding  disorders,  in  the  days  of  our  Saviour's 
sojouriiing  on  earth.  And  as  naturally  led  me  a  step  further  to  re- 
-mind  you,  that  he  is  still  in  his  exalted  state,  the  same  tender  ani^ 
feeling,  and  almighty  Saviour  that  he  was  then.  But  as  I  design 
to  speak  something  more  of  this  as  I  advance,  I  now  proceed  to 
turn  your  thoughts  to 

CREATION. 

It  will  be  in  your  pcwer  to  make  much  more  use  of  creation 
than  the  person  violently  brought  down.  You  can  walk  out, 
and  the  heavens  and  earth  are  before  you.  The  earth  from  i\e 
most  magnificent  to  its  minutest  points.  The  heavens,  from  the 
sun  to  the  smallest  siar  that  twinkles.  Upon  these  you  may  gaze, 
and  consider,  and  meditate.  This  too  you  may  indulge  in  leisure- 
ly and  at  length.  You  may  suffer  your  thoughts  to  dwell  upon 
the  various  and  numerous  vegetables  that  grow  out  of  the  earth, 
from  the  slender  spire  of  grass,  to  the  sturdy  oak  and  lofty  pine. 
And  through  this  numerous  multitude  you  will  find  somelhin^  to 
amuse  and  entertain  your  mind.  At  another  time  you  mav  let 
your  thoughts  wander  and  wind  along  with  the  purling  and  roar- 
ing water  streams,  small  and  great,  till  they  lead  you  into  the  great 
deeps,  the  immense  and  trackless  seasand  oceans.  There  youmay 
let  them  rove,  over  smooth  seas,  and  on  to  other  parts  where  storms 
foar  and  raise  the  waves  to  mountain  height,  tossing  the  ships  aloft 

"  The  men,  astonished,  mount  the  skies, 
And  sink  in  gaping  graves. 
Agair>  they  climb  the  watery  hills) 

And  plunge  in  deeps  again; 
Each  like  a  tottering  drunkard  reels. 

And  tinds  his  courage  vain. 


J*S  (dXSdLATlONS   09 

Fi  ighted  to  hear  the  tempest  roar, 

'I'hey  pant  with  (luti'ring  breath; 
And,  hopeless  of  the  distani  shore,    ' 

Expect  immediate  death." 

Over  this  vast  and  almost  boundless  expanse,  with  1<9  milder 
and  move  awful  scene?,  you  may  let  your  mind  nnge  for  hours  to- 
ga her.  And  as  it  p.isses  along,  from  first  to  last,  do  not  forget  to 
tliiUiC  of  ihetishcs  that  inhabit  the  waters,  in  their  various  species 
and  ki  ^ds,  from  the  little  minnows  that  twich  nnd  dart  from  hole 
to  hole  in  ihe  smaller  brooks,  to  the  huge  and  ponderous  whales, 
thai  in  awful  majesty  and  power,  plough  the  d^cp,  and  spout  whole 
cisterns  of  water  on  high.  In  these  fxtensive  excursions  of 
thought  and  flights  of  mind,  you  may  indulge  to  s.)  great  a  length, 
and  go  out  so  far  from  home,  as  almost  to  forget  that  your  h(>dy  is 
diseased.  Any  thing  lh.it  will  help  you  so  much  as  this,  will  cer- 
tainly be,  consolation. 

in  musing  upon  creation  yon  may  next  turn  to  the  mineral 
kingdom,  and  think  of  t!ie  countless  varieties  of  minerals  that  lie 
bencdtli  the  snrfice  of  the  earth  in  all  their  thousand  curious 
shapes  and  forms,  from  the  rugged  Hme  stone  and  immense  moun- 
tains of  free  stone,  to  the  silver  and  platina  and  golden  ores,  and 
sparkling  diamonds  and  gems,  whicli  dazzle  the  eyes  of  the  be- 
holder. 

This  you  may  do,  even  without  being  a  philosopher,  without 
b^ing  a  severe  and  laborious  student,  and  to  such  an  extent  too  as, 
in  some  degree,  to  allure  your  mind  and  cilm  your  sorrows.  It  is 
possible  you  may  be  a  philosopher.  It  is  more  common  for 
students  and  philosophers  to  be  chronic  patients,  to  Iiave  their  con- 
stitutions ruined  and  groan  under  lasting  diseases,  than  any  other 
class  of  men.  This  is  the  natural  effect  of  confinement  and  in- 
tense study.  Shoidd  you  be  such  a  character,  you  may  pursue 
■with  greater  facility  and  to  more  full  satisfacticm  thecouisc  I  am 
pomting  out.  And  of  all  others,  you  are  the  person  that  ought  to 
do  it.  It  was  in  l)ecoming  a  philosopher  that  you  also  became  af- 
flicted. Although  it  may  not  be  possil  le  to  apply  your  learning  in 
the  way  you  designed,  let  it  not  be  entirely  K>J-t,  use  it  in  tiie  way  I 
am  directing.  But  if  you  are  not  a  person  of  learning,  I  am  very 
fir  from  advising  you  to  become  a  student  in  your  atflicled  and 
feeble  condition.  Nevertheless,  without,  being  a  profound  scholar, 
you  may  extend  your  contemplations  and  meditations  on  creation 
to  a  mucii  greater  extent  than  I  hav^  y't  hinted  at.  X^et  the  whole 
animal  part  of  creation  that  creepeth  upon  the  earth  pass  in  re- 
view before  your  mind.  Take  them  in  ascending  gradation  from 
the  smallest  to  the  greatest — from  the  least  of  crawling  worms  ami 


THE  APyLlOTEiJ. 


89 


riying  iji^ects  to  the  greatest  of  beasts,  and  to  birds  -of  loftiest 
ilig.'),-.  Look  at  the  tamer  beasts  and  biids  ariiund  you,  the  inno- 
cent Idinb,  the  gentle  cow,  the  obedient  hor  e,  the  cackling  and 
crowing  tbwis.  the  cooing  dove,  aiid  all  the  cinrping  and  whistling 
and  sinoiiia  leathered  ones  of  t!»e  forest.  'I'hus  extend,  your 
thouaiiis  till  you  coinc  up  to  the  prowling  tioer,  the  roaring  lion, 
the  hiJi^e  elepiiajit  and  the  keen  eyed  hi^h  soaring  eigl'.  For 
hoursat  a  lime  yon  rnaytlms  indulge  and  no  doubt  you  will  not 
indulge  in  v>iii.  Be  carefid  to  make  nior.d  refl  ctions  as  you  pro- 
ceed, and  if  yo  i  ascend  us  1  have  advised  from  the  most  insignifi- 
cant throucfh  all  kilo  species  an-l  kinds  of  animals  till  you  arrive  at 
the  l:.st,  the  greatest,  llie  noblest  of  all,  the  lord  of  all  others,  that 
one  will  be  man  .  Him  yon  m  y  coinp  *rc  \vi>b  all  other  animals,  as 
it  respects  all  his  powers  and  fxnbics  r,f  body  and  mind.  And 
while  you  are  thinking  of  m;ui,  if  I  mistake  not,  you  will  see  that 
he  is  snijecl  to  more  and  worse  anJ  more  fatal  diseases  than  any 
other  animd.  This  will  cause  y^.n  to  nndtipiv  your  moral  reflec- 
tions, and  amongst  tiiem  this  wul  be  the  most  prominent  one,  that 
of  all  created  aniintils  in  this  visit  le  creation,  man  alone  has  o5en- 
d  'd  the  great  creator.  Therefore  jusily,  very  jus'.ly,  he  stands 
foremost  in  misery,  and  because  all  other  animals  were  made  fur 
mail's  use,  they,  in  their  measure,  are  afflicted  to  afflict  him. 

Here,  my  dear  disconsolate  chris'iMi,  T  m  ist  acknowledge  the 
train  of  thought  his  led  me  o-i  10  -hirjg^  not  very  consolatory. — 
Notwithstanding  thr'y  are  thing.^  about  which  you  may  meditate, 
and  as  you  are  a  chiistian  may  turn  to  some  good  account.  It  iq 
not  ray  purpose  to  say  mticii  in  this  place  upon  moral  considera^ 
tions.     Of  tliem  ujore  hereaf  er. 

1  am  now  speaking  of  the  naked  creation  as  presented  to  the 
view  of  every  l>eholder.  It  did  not  come  into  my  plan  to  account 
for  the  existence  of  evil,  nor  answer  the  objections  of  caviling 
and  captious  minds.  Perhaps  all  those  who  make  such  attempts 
could  be  better  employed.  My  object  is  to  console  you  in  your 
afflictions,  and  not  10  enter  into  dx^p  and  al>sfruse  points  which 
at  this  tim3  you  are  ill  able  to  attend  to.  Therefore  you  need 
not  expect  me  :o  engage?  in  labored  discussions  on  any  of  the  many 
difficult  questions  which  may  naturally  arise  out  of  my  subject. — 
I  by  no  means,  however,  forbid  you  to  meditate  upon  them,  if 
you  feel  able  and  disposed.  Oil  s'lch  as  the  one  just  mentioned,, 
you  may  possibly  me  litate  to  advantage.  Indeed  in  your  contem- 
plations on  creation  it  is  your  special  piivilege  and  duty  to  draw 
such  moral  rejections  as  may  naturally  suggest  themselves.  1 
say  it  is  your  duty  to  do  it  for  yours-  If  and  not  mine  to  attempt  to 
do  i'  for  you,  lest  I  should  lead  you  out  to  greater  lenfjths  than 
you  are  willing  cr  able  to  go.     But  I  repeat  it,  you  should  do  it 

8 


9U  CONSOLATIONS   Oi 

'whenever  aiid  as  much  as  ever  you  can.  TJie  afflicted  person  of  aii 
others  nriy  reasonably  be  expected  lo  be  a  person  of  serious  medi 
lation.  His  afflictions  shut  hini  cut  from  the  ordinary  ways  and 
feeUngs  of  men^  and  lie  looks  with  a  dilferent  eye  and  with  ditier- 
enl  feelings  upon  till  ihinos  around  him.  Thus  you  should  do. — 
And  as  you  contemplate  creation  you  should  strive  to  view  your- 
ijelf  as  you  stand  related  not  only  to  it  in  all  its  parts,  but  to  iho 
great  Creator.  And  you  should  no  less  strive  to  discover  some 
good  design  in  all  the  parts  of  his  vast  and  glorious  workmanship. 
You  may  have  many  and  very  entertaining  and  useful  thoughts  a- 
bout  the  air  in  which  you  move,  and  which  you  breathe.  Philoso- 
phers make  a  multitude  of  curious  and  useful  experinnents  on  it. — 
They  tell  us  the  parts  of  which  it  is  composed,  and  explain  to  us 
why  it  is  indispensably  important  to  sustain  life.  It  is  so  indis- 
pensable that  it  seems  to  be  a  part  of  our  life,  a  part  of  us.  You 
may  he  entertained  in  reflecting  that  it  is  invisih'le  though  all  a- 
round  you  and  even  in  you.  That  though  you  do  not  feel  its 
weight  it  is  exceedingly  heavy — ;nid  that  it  extends  only  about 
forty  five  miles  above  thesu.rfaceof  the  earth,  &:c.  &c. 

Even  more  entertaining  will  be  your  contemplations  of  light. — 
This  exercise  will  require  but  little  study.  Yon  liave  but  to  open 
your  eyes  and  the  beaming,  brilliant,  glorious  sun  of  the  firmament 
is  before  you.  The  grand  displays  of  ligiit  you  will  behold,  first 
in  him,  the  great  fount;^.in  of  it,  "  the  king  of  day,"  thence  all  a- 
round  you  on  land  and  water,  hill  and  dale,  trees  and  plains;  but 
more  varigaied  and  more  glorious  in  tl.e  immense  banks  of  clouds 
which  at  times  will  fippear  of  mountain  size,  piled  one  upon  anoth- 
er, and  exhibit  truly  giand  and  attracting  displays  of  light  and 
colours.  You  will  indeed  be  allured  with  the  more  systematic 
and  still  more  grand  display? of  light  and  all  the  primary  colours, 
^vhich  the  brilliant  rain-bow,  begirting  the  heavens,  will  exhibit, 
with  such  transcendant  and  glorious  sublimity  to  your  admiring 
gaze. 

Tlie  awful  sublim'ic?  of  a  thunderstorm  you  may  both  behold 
and -hear,  while  i^  flashes  and  n)ars,  and  nK  ditateupon  when  it  is 
past.  This  may  suddenly  and  powerfully  arrest  your  thoughts 
and  call  them  off  f^-om  yourself  and  your  disease.  This  abstrac- 
tion of  your  mind  from  yourself  you  may  easily  continue  by  let- 
ting your  thoujzhts  fall  into  a  philosophical  channel;  reflecting 
that  the  agput  which  causes  these  sudden,  and  rapid,  and  vivid 
flashes  of  liglit,  and  produces  those  roaring  dreadful  peals  of 
thunder  which  momenfanly  enlighten  our  atmosphere  and  terriijly 
shake  the  earth,  is  to  !)e  found  in  all  bodies  around  you,  and  is  call- 
ed the  elec'ie  f  nid.  Further,  tliat  this  fli;id  can  be  collected  and 
lj?t  off  by  man;  so  that  even  man  can  make  thunder  and  lightning 


TlfE   AFFLICTED.  9^^ 

iiifi  not  only  so  but  can  use  it  upon  himself  to  great  advantage  in 
curing  some  diseases,  yea,  and  it  may  be,  even  your  own.  Thi^ 
train  of  thoughts  with  the  conclusion  may  console  you. 

Again,  you  may  meditate  upon  the  attraction  of  magnetism.— 
Thinlv  how  surprisingly  the  magnetised  bars  of  stool  will  lift  up 
bars  of  iron,  but  will  attract  no  other  matter  than  iron.  It  is  also 
surprising  how  this  power  or  virtue,  can  be  increased  or  strength 
enedbyuse.  Its  attraction  and  repulsion  of  itself  under  differ- 
cni  circumstances,  excite  the  wonder,  and  call  into  exercise  the  in- 
'Tcnuity  of  philosophers.  But  of  all  the  appearances  which  it  ex- 
liibits  to  the  astonished  and  over  matched  examination  of  the 
learned,  its  polarity,  or  pointing  to  the  poles  of  tlie  ear'li, decided- 
ly stands  highest  and  most  useful.  'Tis  the  magnetic  iieedle  wliich 
;2uides  the  sea  captain  and  the  surveyor.  For  liours  together  you 
may  think  of  the  vast  and  trackless  waters  covered  with  ships  go- 
ing in  every  direction  and  carrying  on  all  kinds  of  commerce  with 
the  most  distant  parts  of  the  earth,  and  all  kept  to  their  courses  as 
well  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  as  in  day  light  by  thr"  pole  seek- 
ing virtue  of  the  wonderful  magnet.  After  you  have  followed 
his  excellent,  unequalled  little  pilot  over  the  waters,  in  all  direc- 
tions and  under  all  circumstances,  you  may  next  follow  him,  in 
the  hands  of  thesuivoyor,  from  mountain's  top  to  mountain's  top. 
and  through  all  the  extensive  plains  setting  up  his  land  marks,  for 
boundaries  for  man;  laying  off  to  each  accordingly  as  he  is  able 
to  buy,  his  plat,  lot,  plantation,  or  farm. 

When  you  close  your  mental  excursion,  you  will  r>c  sJrongly  in- 
duced to  exclaim,  how  wonderous!  how  wonderous!  and  how  use- 
ful too!  There  is  only  one  more  particular  in  creation  to  wliich  I 
shall  direct  your  attention, and  that  is  that  great,  extensive  and  un- 
accountable thing  which  Sir  Isaac  Newton  named"  the  attraction 
of  gravitation."'  He  satisfactorily  proved  it  to  be  the  great  chain 
which  not  only  chains  man  and  all  other  things  to  the  earth,  but  in 
the  hands  of  God  holds  the  univMPrse  together.  You  may  reflect 
then,  that  all  bodies  small  and  great,  attract  one  another,  draw  oth- 
ers to  tliemsolves,  the  less  the  greater,  and  the  greater  the  less,  but 
the  greater  always  more  powerfully  than  the  less,  so  as  to  h?vea 
commanding  power.  You  may  consider  yourself  to  be  drawn  by 
all  bodies  which  you  approach  near  enough  to,  and  at  the  same 
time  that  they  attract  you,  you  attract  tliem. 

This  you  will  not  be  sensible  of  with  respect  to  all  the  smaller 
bodies  on  the  surface  of  the  ear'h,  but  you  will  feel  it  very  sensi- 
bly with  respect  to  the  whole  earth  and  yourself.  You  will  find 
yourself  in  all  places  and  positions  to  be  drawn  to  its  centre.  As 
yon  lake  your  walks  for  exercise  and  the  ent'^rtainment  of  voui 
■nind^you  may  meditate  upon  this  subject.     While  passing  down 


%2  CONSOLATIONS  OF 

tho  hill  you  will  be  forcibly  hdrried  to  the  bot<ri-n,  and  a^you  cxq 
wili  lean  b;.ck,  tore&:ist  tbe  atlidctioii  of  gnivi'.atioii.  The  boUom 
of  ihe  iiill  being  nearer  the  centre  of  the  earth  tiian  the  top^  and 
th^^T  being  the  point  to  which  you  arc  drawn,  yon  will  feel  it  ve^y 
sensibly.  And  no  less  sensibly  as  yon  are  ascending  the  opposiie 
liili.  if  you  observe  you  will  i^ml  yourself,  in  your  exertions  to 
asc.'jud  leaning  forward.  Tliese  are  some  pHticulars  in  which  you 
in-.y  eafeilv  discover  and  feel  the  ellects  of  the  altniclion  of  gravi- 
tation. There  arc  many  others  no  less  obvious.  The  flowing  of  the 
^v.i  evs,  llie  fulling  of  trees,  and  of  stones  and  other  bodies  thrown 
ino  tiieair.  It  is  nothing  but  the  attraction  of  the  earth  that  causse 
them  to  return.  Were  it  not  for  such  attraction  why  would  they 
iiot  ily  off  in  the  direction  they  are  thrown?  They  would^  if  the 
attraction  of  the  earth  did  not  cause  thern  to  ftU  again,  you  may 
say  tkit  there  is  n*  t!iing  in  the  air  to  snpport  them  and  therefore 
they  fill.  VViihout  the  attraction  of  the  earth  there  is  as  much  to 
support  thern  in  one  direction  as  another,  and  even  more,  for  the 
pov,-er  that  sent  them  would  ahvtiys  propel  them  on,  if  not  resisted 
by  some  other  influence,  or  stopped  by  some  opposing  body.  You 
may  then,  with  Sir  Isaac  Newion  consider  tliat  the  same  power 
which  causes  a  stone  to  fall  to  the  eartli  ex-ends  to  the  moon  and 
attracts  it,  so  that  by  this  power  the  earih  draws  the  moonr  aiong 
after  it.  And  in  like  manner  of  all  the  pbineis  in  the  solar  sys- 
tem; tlie  sun  being  the  cen'reof  thissys-em,  and  more  than  annl- 
iion  tinjcs  larger  than  our  etath,  and  o'couise  vnsdy  larger  than  all 
the  planets  with  their  moons  which  have  y<t  been  discovered. 

On  some  clear  moon  light  evening  then,  yon  may  step  out  of 
your  door,  and  by  throwing  np  a  small  stone  and  witnessing  the 
effects  of  gravitation  may  si  art  your  thorghts  upon  an  tdmost  end.- 
less  excursion.  In  imagination  you  will  pursue  the  stone  in  its 
flight.  Thence  like  Newton,  you  will  ascend  to  the  moon,  climb- 
infT  up  on  this  great  chain  of  gravitation.  During  your  stay 
there,  you  will  see  that  the  moon  is  indeed  bound  to  the  earth  by 
this  chain. 

You  will  find  yourself  two  hundred  and  forty  thousand  miles 
distant  from  the  earth,  and  that  much  nearer  to  the  sun.  Af^er 
having  viewed  her  moimtains  and  made  what  otiier  discovcues- 
vou  may  1)6  able  to  make,  and  taken  an  admiring  back  look  up(in 
the  earth,  you  will'  puss  on,mJiking  your  way  upon  the  smv  cliain 
to  the  planet  Mercury.  Wiien  on  him  you  will  be  fifty-eight  mil- 
lion seven  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  miles  nearer  the  sun  than 
you  were  at  the  moon,  and  fifty-nine  million  from  the  earth.  As 
he  receives  his  light  and  heat  from  tlie  sun,  you  will  find  about  se- 
ven times  as  much  light  and  heat  as  there  is  upon  the  eavtii.  This 
-will  be  a  warm  place  for  you,  consequently  you  will  make  but  a 


TUB   AFFLICTED.  ^^ 


sliort  stav,  hastily  gather  up,  look  around  upon  the  wonders  of 
the  world',  and  for  a  moment  gaze  upon  the  dazzling  and  overwhelm- 
ing splendors  of  tht  su..,  as  long  as  your  earthly  eyes  can  endure 
Ihl  sight:  then  away  with  rapid,  returning  flight,  to  the  planet  Ve- 
nus  When  arrived  on  tl)is  planet  you  will  have  travelled  nmety- 
one  million  miles,  and  will  find  yourself  sixty-eight  million  from 
the  sun  After  having  felt  and  breathed  her  atmosphere,  and  cast 
Your  eyes  upon  what  she  presents  to  view,  and  also  looked  around 
upon  the  other  worlds,  and  seen  how  they  appear  trom  her,  you  will 
proceed  on  beyond  the  orbit  of  the  earth  to  the  first  superior  pla- 
net  Mars,  looking  round  as  you  go  and  discovering  how  the  earth 
appears  from  a  distance.  Here  your  journey  will  be  lengthened  to 
a  hundred  and  sixty-eight  million  miles,  and  you  will  find  your- 
self a  hundred  and  forty-five  million  from  the  feun.  What  will  a 
little  surprise  you  here,  will  be,  that  you  will  discover  this  world 
to  be  three  times  less  than  the  earth.  Having  noticed  this  with 
any  other  phenomona  which  you  may  tarry  to  observe,  you  will 
next  proceed  on  the  planet  Jupiter,  viewing  as  you  go,  the  Aste- 
roids, Ceres,  Pall  is,  Juno  and  Vesta.  .„   ^  J     u      • 

Here  after  attending  to  your  reckoning,  you  will  find  that  in 
aoina  from  Mars  to  Jupiter,  you  passed  over  the  space  of  three 
hundred  and  fifty  million  miles  ;  far  the  largest  stride  you  have 
yet  made,  and  rounding  out  your  journey  to  five  hundred  and 
eighteen  million  miles,  and  placing  you  at  a  distance  of  four  hun- 
dred and  ninety  four  million  from  the  sun.  Your  a; Imi ration  will 
be  greatly  excited  when  you  think  of  your  distance  from  the  sun 
and  earth.  When  you  look  back  upon  the  sun  and  see  him  twen- 
ty-eight  times  less  than  he  appears  from  the  earth.  When  yoa 
discover  the  world  on  which  you  are,  to  be  one  thousand  timea 
larger  than  the  earth.  And  while  you  gaze  upon  his  belts  and 
upon  his  moons,  some  of  which  are  larger  than  the  earth.  This 
done,  you  will  advance  thence  to  the  next  world  in  order,  which 
is  Saturn.  This  stride  you  will  find  to  be  four  hundred  and  three 
million  miles,  considerably  greater  than  the  last,  and  making  youi 
journey  nine  hundred  and  twenty  one  million.  By  observation 
and  calculation  you  will  discover  your  distance  from  the  sun  to  be 
nine  hundred  and  seven  million  miles.  The  sun  will  appear  to  be 
only  a  ninetieth  part  as  large  as  he  does  from  the  earth.  There- 
fore you  will  have  much  less  sim  light,  but  as  Saturn  has  seven 
moons,  you  will  have  plenty  of  moon-light.  After  seeing  that  he 
is  much  less  than  Jupiter,  being  only  about  six  hundred  times  as 
large  as  the  earth;  and  taking  a  satisfactory  view  of  his  great  ring 
or  rings,  which  are  about  twenty-one  thousand  miles  from  him,  you 
will  put  off  on  your  last  excursion  to  that  most  distant  world  in 
our  system,  Herschel.   On  your  passage  you  may  see  a  flaming  co 

8* 


84  CONSOLATIONS   0? 

met.  Whrn  nrrivrd  on  ihisronioiesi  out-post  of  tlie  solar  sysfrmf 
ami  afer  sumining  up  your  wliole  journey,  llic  amount  of  miits 
wil  be  nineteen  hundied  :ind  fourtt  en  million,  and  your  disunux 
from  ihe  Bun  nine  cen  hundred  million.  This  beino  the  end  of 
your  j(»!nney,  you  will  take  a  siand  for  a  time  and  cast  your  <  yes 
around,  backwards  and  forw  rds,  and  let  your  thoughts  piiss'<>n 
beyond  tlie  exent  of  your  eye-:  ighi  thi(»ughout  the  ahnost  bound- 
less univ(.^  se.  Ail  the  way  to  the  sun,  nineteen  hundred  million 
nnles,  you  c:\n  see,  v.nd  oil  the  woilds  you  iiave  pnssed  come  wiih- 
in  that  range.  You  stand  and  g.zeat  tlie  Sun  the  great  centre, 
and  all  those  stupeitdous  and  magniticent  worlds  with  their  satel- 
ites.  Commanded  by  him  and  regularly  wheehi:g  their  inmense 
circles  round  his  brilliant  and  nuijestic  orb.  By  him  held  ;;nd 
wiie-  I'r^d,  with  his  great  and  sivong  chain  of  attrctction,  on  which 
you  travelled;  and  prevented  from  i.ying  in  upon  him  by  the  cen- 
Hfiigal  force. 

Upon  the  grand  and  mngnificent  movements  and  revolutions  of 
this  whole  sys  em  of  worlds,  you  will  look  with  admiiing  and  'U- 
tense  gaze  till  you  aie  saiistied,  and  then  exclaim,  how  g*e .;  ! 
how  glorious  !  !  Is  not  this  itself  a  great  creation  !  !  !  But  this  iS 
only  ■)  very  small  part  of  the  wliole  creation.  You  cas;  your  ryes 
ro  nd  upon  the  fixed  stars  several  thousand  of  which  you  can  see 
with  your  naked  eye.  To  all  these,  with  your  eye,  your  thoughts 
p  ss  out,  and  not  only  to  these  but  to  the  hi  nd'ed  thousands  al- 
ready discovered  by  the  telescope,  nor  yet  to  these  alone,  but  te 
the  myriads  existingin  all  probability  though  yet  undiscovered. — 
You  have  now  become  an  astronomer,  and  with  other  astronomers 
you  come  to  the  reasonable  conclusion,  that  as  all  these  stars  shine 
ivitii  their  own  li<_dit  they  are  suns  and  centres,  each  of  a  system 
like  our  solar  system .  Possessing  all  ihe  advantages  of  the  jour- 
ney you  liave  taken  and  tlie  stand  which  you  hold,  you  let  your 
thoughts  1ini>er  for  a  moment  upon  the  v  istness  and  wonders  of 
•ne  system,  or  set  of  worlds;  then  tm  to  another,  and  another,  and 
another,  and  another,  arid  on,  and  on, -and  on,  and  on,  and  further 
orj,  further  on,  further  on,  further  on,  and  still  beyond,  beyond, 
beyond,  beyond,  till  your  soul  swells  with  contemplations  of  the 
gi-r^itness  an  1  vastness  of  the  Universe,  and  your  thoughts  break 
out  and  pass  beyond  creation  to  the  Great  Creator.  "An  unde- 
Tout  astronomer  is  mad."  But  y\-»u  are  sober  and  devout.  And 
at  this  solemn  momen',  most  profoundly  so.  You  li'.ll  down  with 
feverence  and  awe,  and  adoration,  felt  by  you,  but  inexpressible 
to  others,  and  exclaim — ''•Bless  tlie  T-ord,  Omy  soul:  and  all  thit 
is  within  me  Hess  his  holy  name!  Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul. — 
O  T.ord  my  Gol,  thou  art  very  great;  thou  ar:  clothod  wiMi  bono* 
lud  lii.jesiy.''    **TiuRe  O  Lord  is  the  greatnees,  and  the  powftr 


ITIB   AFFLT€"tEi>,  96 

jtfid  thf!  ^lory,  and  the  victory,  aiid  the  ai  jesty thine  is  the 

king  lorn,  O  Lord,  <ind  Uiou  art  exalted  hs  hcud  uU.ya  All.^"* 

iLnvgre.ii!  Iiovv  ;,no4i !  must  He  l>e,  s;iy  yoii — who  Is  greater 
til  ill  all  tJiese  couiiiK'Ss  vvoild^!!  Who  ni.do  ihein  witii  all  their 
inn:4bi!ants,  nnd  upholds  theia,  and  g'lideb  ihem,  .ind  lakcsspccj  .1 
Ccire  even  of  their  minnt<'pt  par  s.  Whose  Providence  is  ovt-r  all 
thir>gs.  You  think,  uieditite,  adrni;e  -nid  adoie,  lill  yon  noi  only 
fornel  tliMt  your  hody  is  diseased,  hut  ahnoji  t^.roet  that  you  h.e 
a  body.  This  is  consol  iti-  n.  You  pau^e,  cdl  in  your  thougrt;s5 
gither  lip,  look  homeward?,  s<>v,  lierschel  farewell,  take  yourfight 
and  I und  in  your  own  door-yard,  and  eu'er  ;:gain  your  humble 
eiV'hly  cottajje,  consoled,  ami  with  impioved  heiihh.  You  re&f, 
and  rep -at  and  p;olong  your  resr^  till  you  feel  di  p.s(d  and  desi- 
rous to  think  and  meditate  ag:in.  So  very  entertdmng  was  ihe 
c-'Uise  which  last  you  pursued  that  you  most  naluT;.lly  f  dl  ui;o 
the  same  agrain  and  proceed  on  from  where  you  stoj)ped. 

You  had  fi'llowed  cieation  from  hei  ininulesT  and  more  fjrnili.ii' 
pnv^s,  v,!iich  surround  your  humhlo  dwellinjj,  ihronoh  her  numer- 
ous and  virions  departments,  up,  with  extensive  strides,  to  lier 
ino>t  maornificent  and  siupenclous,  and  had  ev<  n  gone  beyond  cie- 
atiou  to  the  Gfea4  Creator  llim  you  h'd  contf  ni[)l.ited  and  ador- 
ed, uid  for  a  moment  tho  ight  of  his  Providence.  Elevated  to  -he 
cxal'ed  stand  which  you  held,  and  wrongh;  up  to  the  hi^h  pi'ch 
of  mental  contemplation  to  which  you'weve,  you  could  not  f<..r-' 
be-r  i>eing  thus  led  on.  Yon  jzlanced  a  h^s'y,  rapid,  wide-ring- 
ing tlioiight  in  pursuit  of  that  universil  providence  of  his,  which 
lakes  spec  id  cnre  of  all  those  huge  and  dist  iiit  worlds  tlint  veu 
h  'd  in  contemplation  with  all  the  things  and  beings  which  belong 
to  them. 

A  second  thought  now  readily  convinces  you  that  it  must  he 
iTi'ich  more  diflicult  'nd  less  profitable,  especially  to  a  perst>n  in 
Vvnir  condition,  to  attempt  to  pursue  and  witness  the  operations  of 
the  providence  of  Ood,  in  any  other  thin  a  general  way,  on  any  of 
those  worlds  wliich  are  at  a  distance  from  this  on  which  is  yf>ur 
p-e?ent  home.  Th<^refore,  you  conclude  to  think  and  meditate  of 
th"  acts  of  providence,  as  exercised  in  controlling  and  managing 
the  world  on  which  you  dvvell. 

PROVIDENCE. 

To  vou  there  is  nothing  in  the  least  strange  or  astonishing^ 
thnt  the  Creator  should  superintend  and  control  his  creation. 
That  he  should  f^)resee.  oversee,  and  overrule  e^ery  thing  h.e 
has  made, small  a'ld  oreat.  ariiurate  and^  iuaruMiate,  corporeal 
Hud  ti^u'itual.    Thici  idea  aud  this  couclusion  arc  inseparable 


yS  Consolations  or 

from  the  id.ea  that  there  is  a  Creator; and  of  both  yon  arc  abun- 
dantly satisfied.  Creation's  voice  loudly  declares  the  exist- 
ence of  a  Creator  and  of  his  providence,  and  revelation  speaks 
the  same  truths  so  clearly  and  repeatedly  as  to  leave  the  matter 
without  a  doubt.  Having  heard  and  fully  and  entirely  credit- 
ed their  voices  you  proceed  to  meditate,  for  your  entertainment 
and  improvement,  on  that  adorable  and  sovereign,  and  often 
mysterious  Providence  which  superintends  and  guides  the  desti- 
nies of  yourself  and  all  the  things  and  beings  around  you. 

Your  course  will  be  easy.  It  will  be  most  natural  for  you 
to  follow  creation,  as  you  have  just  done,  from  less  to  great- 
er, delayin*;  as  you  advance  to  meditate  upon  the  control 
of  Providence  over  each  department  or  grade.  As  the  scrip- 
ture? have  selected  and  mentioned  the  hairs  of  your  head  a- 
mong  minute  and  unfeeling  things,  but  not  too  minute  to  be 
overlooked  by  Providence,  you  may  begin  with  them,  and  of 
feeling  things,  with  the  little  flying  sparrows.  Or  you  may 
begin  with  the  particles  of  dust  blown  by  the  winds,  or  the 
grains  of  sand  washed  by  the  waters,  and  advance  thence  to 
the  greatest  things  and  greatest  animals.  Thus  you  will  pro- 
ceed from  atoms  to  empires,  and  witness  the  guiding  of  Provi- 
dence over  each.  No  atom  moves,  no  breeze  blows,  no  germ 
buds,  and  not  a  drop  of  rain  falls,  without  the  permission  and 
purpose  of  Providence.  Very  greatly  may  you  entertain  your- 
self in  closely  observing  his  wise  designs  in  all  these.  Enter- 
taining however  as  these  may  be,'they  are  things  inanimate, 
and  therefore  his  management  of  them  cannot  be  so  attracting 
as  that  of  things  animate,  though  irrational.  These  are  the 
brute  creation,  including  fishes,  birds  and  creeping  things. 
You  will  amuse  yourself  by  reflecting  that  Providence  orders 
their  different  sizes,  forms,  comeliness  or  uncomeliness ;  meas- 
ures out  strength  to  each,  and  gives  exactly  that  length  of  life 
to  every  one  which  will  suit  his  purposes  best.  But  you  will 
dwell  longer  in  thinking  of  the  various  and  very  numerous 
ways  and  means  by  which  be  sustains  their  life.  Of  the  fishes, 
with  great  leviathan  at  their  head,  it  is  said—  ''These  wait  all 
iipon  thee;  that  thou  may  est  give  them  their  meat  in  due  sea- 
son." What  is  their  meat?  They  are  meat  for  one-another. 
One  species  preys  upon  another,  and  no  doubt  often  upon  the 
same.  And  of  creeping  things  it  is  said—"  He  giveth  the  beast 
his  food."  And  of  those  that  fly ,  "Behold  the  fowls  of  the  air  : 
for  they  sow  not,  neither  do  they  reap,  nor  gather  into  barns; 
yet  your  Heavenly  Father  feedeth  them." 

These  too,  both  beast  and  fowl,  prey,  the  oneupon  the  other; 
tjicw©  of  them  which  are  ferocious  and  carniverous.    The 


THE  APrLirTETl.  »' 

iamer  sort  he  snppli^^s  in  milder  w;.y?,  bnt  unfa  all  h?*.  "opene.h 
his  hiiid  ana  they  are  lilled  with  good/'  Long  mav  you^ med- 
itate; upon  this  extensive  and  eiiTerUiining  \'w\v  of  Providence. 
i3ut  that  part  of  his  care  whi'h  is  of  all  others  trie  mosl  im- 
portant, iutercsiin*:  and  attnrtiiig,  is  his  mannirenient  of  man. 
lie  is  ainmate,  rational,  f.-eling  and  accountalde.  Yon  are 
meditating  upon  the  providence  Of  God  over  this  world.  ^Jc.n 
is  the  greatest  and  most  interesting  ol  joct  alt.uhcd  to  it.  That 
too,  which  will  make  this  exercise  so  decidedly  superior  to  the 
foregoing,  and  incomparably  more  engaginii  is,  that  you  arc 
one  of  il)e  race  yourself,  and  come  under  fhe'-managcment  rf 
the  same  Providence  with  all  otheis.  In  this  exercise  you  are 
not  called  to  study  the  nature  and  faculties  cf  n;an,but  simply 
to  view  him  as  controlled  by  Providence.  You  look  at  him 
then,  as  he  comes  into  the  world, a  feeble  animal.  As  his 
slrcnglh  increases  and  his  faculties  begin  to  develope,  he  be- 
gins to  lay  plans  for  life.  Thes  •  are  generally  very  extrava- 
gant, but  extravagant  as  they  arc,  many  of  ihem  are  pcnni-ted 
to  accomplish  them,  yet  far  tlie  larger  part  fu  II  through.  When 
you  look  around  and  see  the  great  .undcrtikings  of  those  who 
are  called  eijterprising  men;  undertakings  requiring  great 
strength  of  mind. to  plan  and  manage,  and  a  ieiigih  of  time  and 
much  labor;  and  untiring  and  unyielding  perseverance;  and 
finally  see  the  whole  accomplished  ;  yeu  are  astonished  at  w  hat 
mau  caji  do.  Abundance  of  wealth  accumulated — great  buil- 
dings completi»d — cities  built,  and  sumetin;es  even  where  the 
waters  fl  <wed — canals  done  rmd  in  use — long  voyages  pn  sper- 
ou:-ly  ended,  and  many  lurge  volumes  written  by  one  man  and 
he  yet  alive;  these  tiling,  no  doubt,  excite  your  surprise.  And 
your  surprise,  on  the  otner  hand,  is  no  less,  to  see  those  who  are 
the  equals  in  age  and  abilities  ot  those  w!)')  are  successful, 
cither  rendered  helpless  by  disease  or  suddenly  cut  down  in 
the  midst  of  their  career  by  death.  So  great  is  the  uncertainty 
of  all  things  here  below,  that  you  are  disappointed  in  either 
ca*e,  the  s.iccess  or  the  failure  of  men.  Long  may  you  enter- 
tain yourself  by  meditating  upon  the  various  providential  dis- 
tributions of  inteliectual  pi.wers,  from  the  idiot  up  to  the  man 
of  giant  mental  strength.  Of  the  various  disriibutior.s  of  |;ro- 
P'-..-ty — of  influence  and  of  power. —  Of  knowledge  in  all  its 
diifcrent  dcgr-'cs,  among  the  nations,  from  the  most  ignorant 
iddatois  to  the  most  enlightened  christians.  But  perhaps  you 
ly  gain  as  much  entertaif]ment  by  meditating  upon  the  rise 
id  full  of  iridivifluals.of  f  inii;io>,  of  states  and  of  emi>ires,  as 
ill  any  other  way.  Yon  mav  see  an  individual  exceedingly 
prominent,  glorying  and  exulting  in  the  suasliin©  of  piospcriiy 


OS  CONSOLATIONS    OF 

and  renown,  but  (as  every  thing  has  its  day  and  its  death,)  you 
may  see  him  suddenly  brought  down,  and  noiseless  silence  suc- 
ceed all  his  activity  bustle  and  stir.  You  will  be  just  as  apt 
to  see  families  which  have  stood  long  and  flonrished  greatly, 
broken  up  and  scattered  abroad  by  the  death  of  the  father,  and 
that  too,  often  in  the  prime  of  life  You  may  do  much  at 
wearing  off  the  tedium  of  the  slow  moving  moments  of  the 
sick,  by  taking  up  some  volume  of  history,  or  by  calKng  to 
niind  the  accounts  which  in  former  days  you  have  read  of  Mie 
rise  and  fall  of  the  great  empires  which  have  existed  upon  the 
earth.  This  i^  truly  a  sublime  view  of  Providence,  and  if  you 
suffer  your  mind  to  pass  on  in  pursuit  of  the  rise  and  fall  of  rm- 
pires,  till  you  behold  not  only  the  last  one  fall,  but  the  earth 
itself  fall,  your  views  will  be  greatly  increased  in  sublimity; 
and  you  will  be  consoled;  which  is  ever  the  effect  that  we  dc- 
.sign  your  contemplations  to  lead  to,  and  terminate  in. 

But,  perhaps  you  ask  how  consoled?  1  answer:  By  view- 
ing and  meditating  upon  the  amazing  displays  of  Divine  wis- 
dom, goodness  and  power  in  the  upturnings,  underturnings  ana 
overturnings  of  men,  both,  good  and  bad.  And  a  steady  con- 
sideration of  his  undeviatingly  righteous  dealings  with  all;  his 
doing  strict  justice  to  every  one,  and  injustice  to  none,  will  be  a 
source  of  great  gratification  and  high  entertainment  to  your 
pious  mind.  But  in  takfng  those  entertaining  and  consolatory 
views  of  providential  dealing  and  control,  yourself  of  all  other 
sublunary  subjects  of  this  dealing  will  be  the  most  interesting 
to  yourself  You  are  not  exempt  from  this  control.  In  its  ex- 
tension and  operations  it  reaches  to  you,  and  has  ever  had  its 
influence  upon  you,  and  from  it  you  can  never  escape. 

On  this  subject  you  will  naturally  and  unavoidably  be  an 
acute  and  vigilant  student.  This  is  a  subject  which  touches 
your  feelings — your  keenest  sensibilities  You  acknowledge 
3"ourseIf  to  be  the  creaiure  of  God,  made  for  his  wise  and  good 
purpose,  and  at  the  same  time  your  own  happiness.  But  your 
afflictions  cause  the  great  question  to  arise  in  your  breast,  how 
is  his  wise  and  good  purpose  effected  by  my  grievous  pain?  and 
sorrows  and  at  the  same  time  my  happiness  brought  about  by 
these  same  pains  and  sorrows?  This  is  the  very  interesting 
question  on  which  you  now  become  an  interested,  critical  and 
daily  student.  And  after  you  have  thus  studied  for  a  length  of 
lime,  and  obtained  all  the  information  you  can  on  the  subject, 
your  mind  settles  upon  the  following  view  of  it,  which  in  this 
'  manner  you  briefly  express.  You  say  to  yourself,  it  is  true  I 
am  a  creauture  of  the  great  Creator,  and  one  of  the  race  of 
men.     In  my  original  I  was  made  good  and  without  sin,  Init 


THE     AFFLICT  En.  90 

ifom  tliis  good  and  sinless  state  there  have  bceii  an  apostacy 
an  I  a  tall:    Therefore   1  with  all  the  rest  am  a  sinner  and  ii 
suff-rcr.     Jesus  Christ  ihe  Son  of  God  came  inl>  the-world  to 
sa\c  sinners.     Accordiii<^  to  the  infi wile  and  unsearchable  wis- 
dom and  knowledge  of  the  Futher  who  sent  him,  and  plainly 
to  satisfy  the  demands  uf  his  justice,  he  must  suffer,  and  suffer 
to  a  great  extent,  in  order  to  save  sinners  and  take  their  suffer- 
ings upon  himself.     This  he  did.  "He  Lore  our  sins  in  his  own 
body  on  the  tree."     He  suffered  not  for  himself  but  entirely  for 
others.     His  suffering*  were  expiatory,  nut  to  improve  himself 
but    to  atone  for  the  guilt  of  others.     They  were  strictly,  truly, 
and  to  an  unlimited  excent,  penal  and  vindictive.     All*  those 
who  believe  this;  who  believe  on  him  and  embrace  him,  are  en- 
tirely and  forever  delivered  from  penal  sufferings.     Those  who 
do  not,  and  who  die  impenitent,  are  not  delivered  from   penal 
sufferings  and  never  will  be.     Not  only  so,  but  all  they  suffer 
in  time, and  will  suffer  in  eternity  is  penal,  a  just  reward  for 
their  guilt.     This  is  true,  and  yet  their  sufferings,  in  a  general 
Vv'ay,  are  just  like  the  sufferuigs  of  those  who  have  believed 
and  are  delivered.     The  natural  evils  of  both  are  alike,    with 
this  exception,  that  the  wicked  appear  to  have  less  than  the 
righteous.     Of  this  1  see  some  proof  in  the  cases  of  the  rich 
man  and  the  beggar  Lazar.is.     In  the  eternal  world,  it  is  s>aid 
to  the  rich  man — ''Son,  remember  that  thou  in  thy  lifetime  re- 
ceivedst  thy  good  things,  and  likewise  Lazarus  evil  tliiiigs;  but 
now  he  is  comforted,  and  thou   art  tormented."     An  all-wise 
and  righteous   Providence  seems  to  allow  them  respite  here, 
while  fiery  indignation  awaits  them,  at  the  appointed  time,  in 
the  place  where  the  rich  man  is  said  to  t.e.     *'The  wicked  is 
ressrved  to  the  day  of  destruction."     The  evils  \\  hich  rest  upon 
them  now,  but  which  are  removed  from  the  righteous,  at  least 
in  part,  are  judicial   blindness  of  mind  and  hardness  of  heart. 
These  are  moral  evils,  and  incomparably  more  dreadful  in  their 
nature  than  natural  evils.     But  because  they   are  blind  they 
see  not,  and  because  their  hearts  are  hard  they  feel  not.  There- 
fore, being  wrapped  up  in  the  many  folded  garments  of  delu- 
sion, "they  are  not  in  trouble  as  other  men;  neither  are  they 
plagued  like  other  men."     For  there  are  no  bands  even  in  their 
death.     Thus  it  appears  that  the  providential  distinction  made 
between  the  rightei;us  and  the  wicked  in  this  world  is  in  favor 
of  the  wicked.     Providence  does  not  reward  the  righteous  here 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  convince  the  wicked  that  he  favors  the 
righteous  more  than  the  wi,-ked.     Of  this  the  righteous   are 
cojiv inced,  knowing-  that  their  sufferings  aye  for  their  good.     I 
decidedly  conclude  that  it  is  in  favor  of  the  wicked,  if  you  do 


iOO  30XSOLATIOX3  OP 

not  take  into  consideration  ilie  hope  of  a  better  world,  vhi^rU 
the  rightcjjus  ijave.  It  sce»nstoineto  be  true,  while  it  is  aiso 
triie  Uiuf  ^*lhe  way  of  traasi^ressors  is  hard."  It  is  true  there 
is  a  present  advantage  ani  eiijoytnent  in  hope;  but  it  is 
evi.ialiy  true  that  all  the  hope  that  can- be  given  t)  a  creature 
ca;i:i^»l  banisli  present  pairis  and  sorrows) — carniot  muke  present 
Siff.iiij^s  present  enjoyments.  In  this  conclusion  1  am  also 
coiitirnied,  by  th^  fict  that  Christ  promised  his  disrnples  perse- 
cutions, amon;^  other  thiii^^s.  lie  let  them  know  that  they  that 
would  coiuc  after  rn.n  tn.ist  not  only  deny  themselves  but  take 
up  their  cioss,  Tiie  apostle  Paul  .-speaks  of  his  ''(iiling  up 
th  it  wh4v"h  IS  behind  ol  the  ailiicti.)ns  of  Christ."  The  ap:>sile 
P  '.ler  exh.nis  us  to ''rejoice,  in  as  much  as  we  are  made  parta- 
ku's  of  Cnrist''s  s'lflerings /"  And  tells  us  that  we  are  not  to 
"ihiak  it  strange  <oncerning  the  fiery  tiial  which  is  to  try  us 
as  th>ugh  some  sirange  thing  happened  unto  us."  Thus  his 
disnples  are  to  be  tried  — O  it  of  trials  and  great  tribulations 
they  are  to  enter  heaven  Tne  wicked  out  of  lesser  and  lighter 
tnils  are  to  Oe  pluiigevi  into  hell.  Their  trials  and  sutTennjis 
hjre,  thou^!;h  lighter,  are  manitestly  penal.  They  view  them 
aal  feel  under  ihem  as  th  )ugh  they  were  undeserved  and  God 
UMJ  ist  to  brmg  ihem  on  ihein.  They  are  not  humbled  under 
them,  on  account  (»f  their  guilt  and  unworthiness  and  ill  de- 
B'jirts.  Therefore  they  have  no  effect  or  tendency  to  correct 
and  improve  them.  And  therefore  also,  it  evidently  and  indu- 
bita.ny  appears  lh.it  they  are  judicial,  or  penal,  or  inflicied  up- 
on them  as  a  punishment  of  their  crimes,  and  not  as  a  trial  or 
test  whirh  beiug  endured  to  thr^  end  should  be  succeeded  by  an 
enlire  deliverance  from  ail  sufF^^rings, 
Auguot  ioth,  1629. 

B  it  thank  God!  I  hope  it  is  not  thus  with  me.  1  view  the 
plan  of  salvation,  as  devised  by  God  ihe  Faiher.  accepting  and 
being  s:i:.isiit'-d  with  the  .sufferings  of  his  Son,  as  vindictive  or  pe- 
nal sufl'jrijigs  tor  me  and  all  his  people.  So  that  wh.it  1  suffer; 
these  pains  and  sorrows  of  mine  are  not  penal  but  corrective. 
They  are  the  trial  oi  test,  which  is  that  which  is  behind  of  the 
afiiictions  of  Christ.  In  them  I  do  not  suffer  for  others  as  h'e 
di  1,  nor  even  for  my  own  sins  in  a  penal  pr.int  of  view.  This  I 
could  not  do,  because  penal  sufferings,  such  as  he  bore,  were 
inhtnte,  and  I  could  not  have  suffered  them  out.  The  wicked 
never  will.  Mine  I  may  endure  unto  the  end.  They  are 
short: — They  are  light : — They  woik  out  for  me  a  far  more  ex- 
ceeding and  eternal  weight  of  glory.  FrOin  this  view  of  the 
subject  1  cuQ  see  clearly  how  my  paius  and  sorrows  accomplish 


THE  AFPLI'TEi^.  18*1 

God's  wise  and  gond  purpose,  and  at  thn  same  time  bring  about 
mv' hj;)j)i(iess.  Beins;  conscioas,  also, 'jt' all  that  strength  of 
rebellion  which  w  ts  m  my  h;jart  by  natare,  and  the  unbending, 
unsubmissive  stubbornness  of  my  will,  and  reeling  and  know- 
ing by  experience,  the  reducing,  overcoming  ami  humbling  ef- 
fects and  tendency  '^f  afflictions,  and  als.j  knowing,  that  *'be- 
fore  honor  cometh  humility,"  before  the  crown  the  cross,  I  am 
not  only  reconciled  to  bear  them,  but  even  rej:>ice  and  thank 
G  )d  for  these  sanctitied  afflictions  v/hich  are  doing  so  much 
good  f  )r  me. 

Mr  lifetime  on  earth  is  but  a  moment.  My  exit^tence  be- 
yond— eternal,  without  day,  month,  vcar,  measure  or  end  Af- 
flic.uons  are  oue  great  mean  by  which  G  d  prepares  me  f  »r  a 
happy  eternity,  and  by  which  to  elevate  me  ab've  all  sufTo-rings 
ol  all  kinds  and  make  me  secure  in  bliss.  Therefore,  wiih 
good  cause  1  may  exclaim — how  great  is  his  mercy!  how  ama- 
zing his  love  in  afflicting  me!  In  meditadng  upon  his  provi- 
dence over  all  other  thiiigs  and  «)ver  myself  in  particular,  and 
on  that  special  act  of  his  providence,  by  which  1  have  been 
disappui'ited  in  ail  my  plans  and  prospects  of  life,  and  griev- 
ously afflicted,  I  am  thus  satisfied,  entirely  satisfied;  my  mind 
is  reconciled  to  it  and  at  rest.  I  see  that  it  is  all  for  the  best^ 
Aii  things  are  working  together  for  my  good. 

Vour  views,  and  fuellings,  and-  conclusions,  my  friend  are 
correct  and  sound.  They  are  perfectly  accordant  with  the 
highest  wisdom  and  the  safest  course. 

O'.that  we  could  prevail  upon  the  impenitent  who  slight  th^ 
Saviour  and  his  salvati'»n,  to  look  torward  to  the  end  of  time,  to 
the  judgment  over,  to  "the  righteous  saved,  the  wicked  damned," 
an  '  the  i>verwhelmiug  floods  of  divine  wriAth  streaming  upon, 
them!  W juld  they  take  such  a  view,  v/ith  "faith,  only  as  a 
grain  uf  mustard  seed,"  then  would  they  heartily  welcome 
such  .iffli::tions  as  yours,  and  have  the  same  views,  and  feel- 
ings and  conclusions  under  them  that  you  have.  But,  alas! 
th'jv  do  not! 

Thus  far,  my  dear  afflicted  friend,  you  have  considered  the 
design  of  Pr  >vidence  in  your  afflictions  as  it  respects  yourself, 
but  this  is  quite  a  contracted,  narrow  view  of  the  subjert.  Your 
afflictions,  no  doubt,  are  designed  by  Providence  to  make  vou 
a  better  person  not  only  for  your  own  good,  but  fo'r  the  good 
of  others.  It  is  t  >  make  y  »u  have  ri^ht  views  and  feelinarg 
concerning  this  world  and  the  next,  so  as  to  cause  all  your 
conduct  to  savor  of  wisdom,  and  every  word  to  have  weight 
and  mike  an  imirnission  ev3n  up  )n  ^he  miifds  of  the  thoughtless. 
If  your  afflictions  have  had  this  proper,  legitimate  effect  upojn 

9 


102  tONSOLAllONS    eF 

yo  1,  it  is  sr^'in-.ely  necessary  fjr  me  to  advise  you  to  let  your 
conduct  and  words  be  of  tliis  character.  As  you  are  disap- 
pointed arid  pulled  down  from  your  earthly  plans  and  schemes, 
and  your  strength  is  jone,  and  paleness  has  taken  its  seat  upon 
your  countenance,  y(»u  will  stand  forth  an  example  to  all 
around  you  of  the  vanity  and  futility  of  this  world,  and  you 
will  be  strongly  inclined,  very  careful,  and  unceasingly  vigil- 
ant tcj  make  your  words,  (ns  in  a  certain  sense  they  are,)  the 
words  of  a  dying  person  to  all  those  who  have  nut  correct  views 
and  feelings  concerning  the  world  to  come;  who  are  not  believ- 
ing, penitent,  and  humbled  as  you  are.  This,  doubtless,  is  no 
small  part  of  the  designs  of  Providence  in  your  afflictions.  He 
shuts  you  out  from  the  ordinary  ways  of  man,  and  curtails  you 
of  Ihe  ordinary  enjoyments  of  this  world,  that  you  may  be 
weaned  irom  it,  and  better  prepared  to  wean  others. 

Some  persons,  in  hiy  righteous  and  adorable  provklence,  he 
brings  down  to  death  with  a  single  and  sudden  blow,  that  th"se 
around  may  tremble  and  prepare  to  follow.  But  you  should  re- 
joice that  it  pleases  hiin  to  serve  himself  in  another  way  wiih 
you.  As  he  has  stopped  you  in  the  course  in  which  you  start- 
ed, you  are  not  to  suppose,  tor  a  moment,  that  he  has  no  other 
course  in  which  you  ought  to  go.  Henot  only  has  another, 
but  a  better.  He  never  chooses  the  worse  for  the  better;  but, 
in  his  wisdom,  always  the  better  for  the  worse.  It  will  be  your 
business  to  look  Gteadily,  acutely,  and  prayerfully  to  see  which 
way  the  hand  of  his  jirovidence  points,  and  the  next  thing  you 
have  to  do  is  to  go  in  thiit  way.  In  all  probability  the  way  in 
which  you  started  was  selfish,  and  had  not  his  glory  and  the  good 
of  man  enough  in  view.  You  must  remember,  you  are  his  with 
all  you  are  and  have,  and  should  be  unreservedly  devoted  to  his 
service.  The  best  way  that  you  can  serve  him  on  earth,  is  to  ad- 
vance the  happiness  of  raiiukind.  He  does  not  leave  his  children 
and  servants  without  directions.  He  does  not  give  them  work  to 
do  without  felling  them  what  work  it  is.  He  will  fell  Ihem  by 
providential  indications  wli^it  he  would  have  ihem  do.  A  multi- 
tude of  things  combine  and  concentre  to  makeup  these  providon- 
tinl  indications,  tiiis  hand  of  providence,  as  I  have  cdled  it  above. 
Tl?e  strength, which  you  have;  your  knowledge  of  your  own  feel- 
ings and  abilities  ;  your  pecidiar  turn  of  mind  and  strength  of 
mind  for  ihis'or  that  employment^  the  opinions  of  your  most  wise 
and  prudent  friends;  together  with  the  openings  which  may  occur, 
and  the  smiling  prospects  of  success ,which  may  invite;  and  above 
all  the  flattering  promise  of  us-jfulness  to  m;m.  Thus  his  hand 
will  poin*  to  the  way.  Th»isyo»i  will  hear  his  voice  beliind,  saying 
"this  is  the  way,  walk  you  in  it."    Ypu  need  not  be  surprised,  if  he 


THE    AFFLKTED.  lOS 

should  appoint  you  to  that  task  or  work  which  se^ms  v^ry  insigr.i- 
ficiint.  It  ishis  delight  to  effect  the  greatest  ends  by  small  means. 
"C'od  hath  chosen  the  foolish  things  of  the  world  to  confound  the 
wise;  and  God  hath  chosen  the  weak  things  of  the  world  to  con- 
found the  things  which  are  mighty;  and  base  things  of  the  world 
and  things  which  are  despised,  hath  God  chosen,  yen,  and  things 
which  are  not,  to  bring  to  nought  things  that  are:  thnt  no  flesh 
should  glory  in  his  presence."  Do  you  have  steadily  in  view  his 
glory  and  the  good  of  man,  and  very  probably,  he  will  choose  yrai, 
one  of  the  weak  things  of  the  world,  to  confound  the  mighty.  By 
your  instrumentality,  weak  as  you  are,  he  may  work  wonders  of 
salvation  for  others.  But  you  must  go  the  wav  jiis  hand  points  and 
his  voice  directs,  whether  as  you  proceed  along  you  appc^ar  1o  ef- 
fect any  thing  or  nothing.  If  there  is  no  appearance  of  good  ef- 
fected, your  consolation  will  be  that  you  have  done  your  duty.  It 
is  possible  for  you  to  effect  great  good,  but  it  not  appear  to  you.— 
Should  it  appear,  it  will  be  much  more  enlivening  and  consolato- 
ry, though  it  may  not  be  more  real  nor  more  extensive.  God  has 
made  some  seeds  to  germinate  quicker  than  others.  Some  lie  long 
in  the  ground  before  they  sprout.  In  like  manner  it  is  with  spirit- 
ual seeds.  In  speaking  of  the  business  in  which  you  may  en- 
gage, I  do  not  intend  to  convey  (he  idea  that  it  will  be  in  your 
power  to  lie  entirely  devoted  to  spiritual  thing?.  This  possibly  may 
be  the  case,  but  more  likely  not.  THe  highest  probability  is  that 
you  will  have  to  engage  in  some  worldly  business  to  procure  a  liv- 
ing. In  some  hght  easy  business  of  the  hinds,  according  to  your 
sex  and  grade  in  society.  Something  with  the  needle,  or  if  you 
be  of  the  other  sex,  something  in  merchandise  or  clerkship,  &c. 
In  whatever  employment  you  ffiay  engage,  you  will  not  hkely  be 
excluded  from  intercourse  with  others.  You  may  be  more  or  less. 
The  more  numerous  the  circle  in  which  you  move,  the  bettes  op- 
portunity you  will  have  to  do  good.  Let  not  a  single  one  pass  by 
unimproved.  Seize  every,  and  the  slightest  opportunity  to  point 
all  the  thoughtless  and  unconcerned  around  you,  **'to  the  Lamb  of 
God  which  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world.'"  Thus,  while  you 
are  exertincr  yourself  with  all  possible  prudence,  activity,  vigilance 
and  faithfulness  to  advance  the  happiness  of  man,  it  v/ill  be  a  giea* 
source  of  consolation  to  you,  that  you  are  allowed  of  God  t«>  be 
thus  employed.  You,  an  undeserving,  illdeserving,  heiideserving 
sinner,  not  cut  off  and  cast  civA^y,  b-it  spired  and  granted  a  little 
strcTigth  in  the  world  of  probation  and  hope,  to  speak  to  men  and 
warn  them  to  be  wise.  To  warn  and  persuade  them  "to  flee  from 
the  wrath  to  come." 

If  in  God's  sparing  and  amazing  mercy  you  ate  thus  indulged 
and  allowed,  thus  to  serve  him,  you  will  have  consol.Uion  arising 


1^4  tidNSOLATlONS    ©> 

frona  another  source.  I  mem  the  regularand  daily  labor  by  v?hici. 
you  procure  a  hving.  Thousands  cannot  do  tins  nor  any  thing 
at  all  towards  it.  Great  will  be  your  satisfaction  that  you  are  not 
entirely  and  ^absolutely  dependent  on  others  for  food  and  raiment, 
and  a  shelter  from  the  slorm.  But  this  is  far  from  being  all  the  sa- 
tisfaction arising  out  of  your  business,  Man  is  made  for  action. 
And  in  that  vevy  action,  when  it  is  lawful  and  wriglit,  God  hie 
placed  no  smill  enjoyment.  To  the  sick  person,  (as  you  know  by 
experience.)  it  is  a  very  considerable  addition  to  his  disease  to  be 
deprived  of  this  enjoyment.  From  the  industrious  and  active  per- 
son it  is  taking  away  a  large  part  of  his  life.  But  this  in  some 
measure  still  remains  with  you.  Great  therefore  is  your  consola- 
tion. Out  of  this  subject  there  arises  an  idea  which  brings  to 
view  a  still  larger  amount  of  enjoyment.  It  is  not  the  duty  of  per- 
sons in  health,  much  less  your  duty,  to  live  the  life  of  a  recluse; 
secluded  from  the  world  and  the  enjoyment  of  soeiety.  It  is  al- 
together advisable  that  a  part  of  that  action  in  which  God  hos. 
pi  iced  so  much  enjoyment,  and  a  little  of  which  be  has  left  with 
you,  should  be  put  ff)rth  in  visiting  your  friends.  All  physicians, 
and  all  experience,  and  all  the  world  know,  the  good  effects  to  the 
afflicted  of  a  seasonable  visit  paid  at  the  house  of  cheerful  friends. 
"Iron  sharpeneth  iron;  so  a  m;in  sharpeneth  the  countenance  of  his 
friend,"  As  often  as  you  can,  consistently,  it  will  be  well  for  you 
to  visit  your  friends  and  enjoy  iheir  society ,  Throw  off  the  cares 
of  the  world  entirely,  and  give  yoiHself  up  to  relaxation  and  so- 
cial entertainment.  It  will,  at  times,  be  admissible  not  only  to 
lay  aside  worldly  cares,  but  even  your  spiritual  concerns  and  exer- 
lions.  *'To  every  thing  there  is  a  season,  and  a  time  to  every  pur- 
pose under  the  sun."  And  there  will  be  a  season  f  jryou  to  suis* 
pend  all  ordinary  operations  and  surrender  yourself  up  to  the  hos- 
pitality, courteousness,  intelligent  discourse,  or  even  innocent  chit- 
chat of  those  whose  characters  are  good  and  v^hom  you  esteem. — 
Yo»i  may  listen  to  their  usefid  and  ftcetious  anecdotes,  and  indulge 
with  them  in  a  hearty  lau£;h.  Thus  by  a  timely,  free  and  easy, 
and  social  visit,  you  may  be  entertained  with  a  temperate,  and  at 
the  same  time,  rich  feast  of  reciprocal  hilarity  and  sober  joy.  fa 
the  midst  of  this,  you  will  forget  the  afflictions  and  woes  that  are 
upon  you.  Your  spirits  will  be  enlivened— your  strength  recruit- 
ed, and  you  encouraged  to  goon  with  a  greater  degree  of  alacrity 
and  delight  in  the  desirable  path  of  duty.     Tiiis  is  consolation. 

As  you  are  a  christian  T  presum?;  you  will  not  abuse  what  I  hive 
said  on  the  subject  of  visiting  friends,  by  supposing  that  I  thceby 
design  to  give  you  license  to  frequent  or  terrd  balls,  parties,  or 
sutnp^uous  entertainments  where  matters  are  carried  beyond  the 
bounds  of  temperate  sociability  and  reasonable  amusement,— - 


THE   AFFLICTED.  I0!j 

Where  wild  mirth,  dissipation  and  intemperance  are  practised, 
in  every  supposable  way.  In  licentious  and  extravagant  eating, 
drinking,  exercising,  and  ruinous  loss  of  rest  and  sleep.  These 
are  no  places  for  a  christian  to  frequent,  much  less  ^n  afflicted 
christian.  They  are  hot  beds  which  produce  affliction?,  rather 
than  relieve  or  remove  them. — Hundreds  and  thousands  who  are 
chronic  valetudinarians  if  they  would  be  honest  and  candid,  would 
tell  you,  that  they  caught  tlieir  diseases  by  the  intemperance  of 
such    resorts. 

It  was  t  quiet,  and  private  fiimily  circles,  to  which  I  designed 
to  advise  you  to  pay  your  visits.  If  you  visit  larger  circles,  they 
should  be  associations  of  religious  persons.  This  brings  us  to  a 
close  of  what  we  had  to  say  on  the  subject  of  providence,  to 
which,  and  to  the  obedience  of  which,  we  have  been  referring  you 
for  consolation  under  your  afflictions.  And  it  also  le^ids  us  on 
to  the  high-  and  important  subject  of  your  own  personal  enjoy- 
ments of 

RELIGION. 
Here  again,  as  in  all  theforementioned  things,  you  have  greatly 
the  advantage  of  the  patierit  who  is  violently  and  suddenly  brought 
down  and  closely  confined  to  his  room,  the  sick  pers(  n's  prison. 
You  cannot  only  sit  up  and  read  your  bible  at  home,  but  visit  reli- 
-gious  assemblies,  during  the  week,  that  meet  to  sing  and  pray — 
and  on  the  holy  sabbath  day,  vou  can  say,  with  and  to  others,  "let 
us  go  into  the  house  of  the  Lord.  Our  feet  shall  stand  within 
thy  gates,  O  Jerusalen)!"  Your  fe<^t  can  stand,  not  only  witljin 
her  gales,  but  walk  within  her  palaces,  and  in  the  midst  of  the 
courts  of  God's  house,  surrounded  by  the  congregation  of  the 
people,  you  may  unite  your  heart  with  them  in  solemn  and  exalt- 
ed worship.  In  warm  and  lively  devotion  before  the  great  King, 
the  Majesty  of  heaven  and  eaith.  Religion!  religion!  dearest 
word  sounded  in  mortal  ears,  grand  and  greatest  source  of  conso- 
lation to  unhappy  man!  Unequalled  soother  of  his  pains,  and  so- 
vereign antidote  for  all  his  maladies!  Great  banisJtei  of  guilt, 
darkness  and  doubts,  and  introducer  of  light,  hope,  joy  and  eter- 
nal life!  Kind  heaven's  highest,  richest  boon  to  hapless,  hopeless 
man;  bringing  life  and  immortality  to  light  in  his  soul;  his  soul 
otherwise  envelo^jed  in  darkness  and  filled  with  misery!!  This  gift 
of  ^Jod  to  fallen  man,  unquestionably  paramount  to  all  others,  in- 
cluding in  it  the  gift  of  his  Son,  wliich  is  called  "unspeakable;" 
you,  unworthy  as  you  feel  yourself  to  be,  do  entertain  a  modest, 
hnnal.le  and  strong  hope,  has  been  given  to  you.  Has  been  im- 
pl  in'ed  in  your  soid,  by  the  gracious  means  of  God's  appointment, 
and  the  powefnl  agency  of  the  Divine  Spirit,  the  great  Comforter. 
You  have  very  carefuUv,  minutelv  :ind  extensively  examined  llrfe 

8* 


i{)6  CO^NSOtATIOKs'  OP 

evidences  by  which  it  may  be  known  to  a  person's  s^Vf^  with  greafei 
or  less  certainty,  whether  it  is  within  him  or  not:  and  willi  all  diffi- 
dence and  self  condemnation,  and  unspeakable  gratitude  vou  are 
encouraged  to  ti)ink  it  is  within  you.  If  this  conclusion  is  ac- 
cording to  truth,  (uid  1  must  consider  it  so,)  all  riches  are  wifhia 
f  ou,  "the  unsearchable  riches  of  Christ,"  to  buy  which  the  man 
is  wise  who  sells  all  else.  Thus  you  have  done,  you  have  p-rted 
with  and  forsaken  all  for  Christ,  for  religion,  and  are  willing  to 
loose  your  life  to  gain  life.  You  have  a  sense  of  pardoned  sin. — 
You  are  restored  to  the  favor  of  God  and  reconciled  unto  iiini. — 
His  love  is  in  your  heart  and  you  have  communion  wifh  him  and 
with  his  Son  Jesus  Christ.  You  have  no  fear  of  eternal  torment. 
*^Perfect  love  casteth  out  fear."  You  feel  yourself  to  be  in  a  safe 
condition  and  a  safe  place.  You  have  fled  from  the  wrath  to  come. 
Yon  see  it  coming,  but  not  where  you  are  or  are  to  be.  As  I  have 
hinted  above,  you  have  time  and  strength  not  only  to  read  the  bi- 
ble but  to  read  it  leisurly,  and  in  all  its  parts.  In  its  proclama* 
tions  and  offers  of  mercy,  pardon  and  life  to  the  wicked.  In  its 
counsels,  and  warnings  and  exhortations,  and  persuasions  of  them  j 
and  its  terrible,  and  alarming  threatenings  denounced  against  them 
by  the  voice  of  the  eternal  God,  which  speaks  from  heaven  and 
shakes  the  whole  earth.  Threatenings  which  he  will  inftllibly  ex- 
ecute upon  them  if  they  da  not  repent  and  turn.  This  is  the 
wrath  that  is  to  come  upon  the  finally  impenitent.  You  read  of 
it  in  all  the  multiplied  ways  and  under  all  the  different  and  nu- 
.merous  figilres  by  which  it  is  declared  and  represented  in  the  sa- 
cred volume.  You  firmly  believe  it  and  are  escaping  from  it,  v.nd 
have  so  far  escaped  as  to  feel  safe.  Thus  you  enjoy  religion. — * 
And  again,  you  have  equally  as  much  time  and  leisure,  and  are 
pleased  to  occupy  more  of  them,  much  more,  in  reading  and  pon* 
during  over  repeatedly,  and  from  time  to  time,  all  the  doctrines  and 
precepts  for  instruction,  with  which  the  scriptures  do  so  richly 
abound.  Furthermore,  there  is  not  a  single  precious  promise  or 
rncouraging  word  wilhin  the  lids  of  God's  holy  book,  to  which 
Jon  m?^y  not  turn,  and  on  which  fenst  your  mind.  In  this  yotr 
will  delight  to  be  engaged.  It  is  a  feast  indeed  to  the  pious  heart. 
A  feast  at  which  you  are  in  no  danger  of  excess  or  smfeiting. — 
Where  you  connot  partajt-e  too  freely,  and  all  you  do  receive  will 
be  well  relished  and  give  you  great  strength.  Con'^equently,  you 
scarcely  let  a  day  p;)ss  without  partaking  of  this  feast,  without 
reading  and  meditating  upon  one  or  more  of  the  kind  and  gra- 
cirus  promises  of  a  forgiving  and  saving  God.  Thus  you  enjoy 
yelioion  and  are  consoled. 

Acrain,  th«'re  are  n).niv  doctrinal  and  pncticRl  books  written  by 
pious  and  able  men  who  were  sound  in  the  faith,     Whicli  book? 


tllB  AFFLKJTRD.  lOl 

Were  (ie^igned  and  are  well  calculated  to  aid  us  in  our  views  of 
the  scrip  ures  and  iii  the  practice  of  our  lite.  'J'o  some  if  not  to 
all  of  these  you  hive  access.  Some  are  written  in  prose,  others 
in  poetry.  Both  will  instruct  and  entertain  you.  Both  will  assist 
you  to  have  higher  and  more  correct  and  exalted  views  of  many  texts 
of  scripture,  and  of  the  whole  plan  of  salvation.  The  more  pi- 
ous of  them  wil  greatly  enliven  your  devotion,  kindle  your  zed, 
and  warm  your  heart,  and  fill  it  with  holy  and  happy  and  almost 
rapturous  emotions  and  affectio:!?.  The  entliusias'.ic  sublimity^ 
and  burning  ferver  of  chaste  and  correct  and  pious  poetry,  will  in- 
^eed  fire  your  mind  and  make  you  all  alive  in  heavenly  contem- 
plations and  heavenly  hopes.  Not  one  of  all  the  thousand  chords 
that  twine  about  your  heart  will  remain  unstrung  and  unmoved  as 
you  read  but  all  will  vibrate,  simultaneous  and  harmonious; — 
touched  with  the  exquisite  sensibilities  of  spiritual  joy  and  love, 
with  which  indulijent  heaven  is  pleased  to  visit  the  christian's 
breast.     This  is  religion,  this  is  consolation. 

But  tliis  is  far  from  hnng  the  limit  of  your  privileaes.  Yon 
have  strength  andean  have  composure  to  enjoy  your  private  de- 
votions. You  can  say,  when  alone  with  God,  "hearken  unto  the 
voice  of  my  cry,  n  y  King,  and  ray  God  :  for  unto  thee  will  I 
pray.  My  voice  shalt  thou  hear  in  the  morning,  O  Lord:  in  the 
morning  will  1  direct  my  prayer  unto  thee,  and  will  look  up." — » 
lltiriiing,  noon  and  evening,  can  you  let  your  voice  be  heard  by 
your  King  and  your  God,  and  direct  your  prayer  unto  him  and 
look  up.  And  while  you  thus  stand  looking  up,  and  directing 
your  prayer  to  the  great  One,  you  feel  yourself  to  be  in  the  imme- 
diate presence  of  the  august  and  awful  Majesty  of  all  worlds.  A 
deep  solemnity  falls  upon  you,  and  you  tremble  with  reverential 
fear.  You  see  his  greatness  and  his  glory.  You  remember  youf 
rebellion  and  the  depth  to  which  you  had  sunk  in  sin  and  misery, 
and  how  low  this  great,  condescending  King  stooped  to  reach  you, 
Tou  adore  his  M  jesty.  Your  heart  is  filled  and  overflows  with 
gratitude,  and  you  give  thnnks  unto  him,  and  praise  his  holy  name 
that  he  did  not  permit  you  to  sink  forever.  With  all  earnestness 
and  importunity;  and  with  the  feelings  of  a  son  in  the  presence 
of  a  tender  father,  you  most  devoutly  and  fervently  implore  his 
elemencj  and  his  smiles  upon  you  a  poor  sinner,  one  of  the  chief 
©f  sinners.  That  he  would  forgive  all  y  )ur  sins,  wash  away  all 
your  uncleinnesp,  entirely  renew  your  nature  and  make  you  a  new 
creature  in  Christ  Jesus,  "and  meet  to  be  pirtaker  of  the  inherit- 
ance of  the  saints  in  light."  And  thus  having  prayed  for  the  ren- 
ovition,  and  restoration  and  salvation  of  your  soul,  which  is  the 
matter  of  hi^he=!t  concern,  and  feel ina  yourself  to  be  heard  ind 
answered, -you  next  intreat  youi  heavenly  Father  to  pity  your  poor 


ids  CONSOLATIONS  OP 

diseased  body  and  remove  your  disease,  if  agreeable  to  his  w>il.  If 
not,  that  he  would  miUgate  your  pains,  and  if  not  that,  that  he 
may  be  pleased  to  resign  you  to  them  and  aflford  you  courage  and 
strength  and  patience  lo  endure  them;  to  endure  as  seeing  him 
who  is  invisible,  and  to  endure  unto  the  end,  until  your  soul  shall 
be  released  from  its  clay  tabernacle  and  admitted  into  the  society 
for  which  it  is  meet.  Of  that  society,  as  you  thus  stand  a  suppli- 
ant on  earth,  your  eyes  being  directed  heavenward,  you  have  a 
foresight,  and  of  its  joys  your  gracious  King  atibrds  you  a  fore-- 
taste.     This  is  one  of  the  highest  enjoyments  of  religion. 

Another,  to  which  1  must  not  fail  to  direct  your  attention,  is 
singing  the  praises  of  God.  This  is  an  exercise  in  which  you  may 
frequently  engage.  Even  in  your  daily  employment  you  may  break 
the  silence  that  surrounds  you,  chase  the  woes  that  press  upon 
you,  and  enliven  your  drooping  spuits,  by  a  cheerful  song  of  sa- 
cred praise.  The  fascinating  and  charming  power  of  music  is  in- 
deed gieat.  You  remember  its  elTects  upon  unhappy  Saul.  I 
am  speaking  of  sacred  music  for  you,  no  matter  how  you  make  it 
or  hear  it  made,  with  the  voice  or  on  musical  instruments.  I 
would  highly  recommend  it  to  you.  The  voice  makes  the  best 
and  is  more  natural.  It  also  connects  sense  with  sound.  Not 
every  one  has  a  voice  for  it,  and  if  you  have,  in  your  afflicted  state 
you  may  not  have  strength  to  use  it.  if  so,  or  whether  or  not, 
your  delightful  christian  duties  will  lead  you  to  assemble  often 
with  those  who  sing  the  songs  of  Zion.  Who  "sing  with  the  spi- 
rit and  with  the  understanding,"  and  mike  melody  in  their  hearts 
and  with  their  voices  to  God.  While  in  the  midst  of  these  soft 
me  lodies,  gentle  tones, sweet  harmonies  and  enrapturing  airs;  be- 
fore "ever  yon  are  awure,  youi  soul  makes  you  like  the  chariots  of 
Arnjninudib."  You  are  wafted  aloft,  heavenward,  upon  the  gen- 
tle waves  of  sound,  and  feel  happy.  Happy  by  the  alluring  effects 
f)f  musical  sounds,  and  by  the  devotional,  worshipful  and  spirit- 
ual sense  conveyed  by  the  words  that  are  sung.  This  is  religious 
enjoyment.  This  banishes  the  miseries  and  melancholy  of  a  shat- 
tered constitution  and  .-.upevinduces  a  better  state  of  feeling.  And 
this  clone  you  are  consoled. 

A<jj:iin,  if  you  take  enjoyment  from  your  own  private  devotions?, 
and  from  notes  of  praise  sounded  by  your  own  voice  in  private,  or 
fey  others  in  company,  you  will  be  no  less  pleased  with  the  prayers 
and  worship  offered  up  by  others.  More  especially  when  you  go 
to  church,  a«ii  listen  to  a  pious,  humble,  devout,  ardent,  able  and 
€loqnen<  minister  of  the  pospel,  preaching  "the  unsearchable  rich- 
es of  Ch'ist,"  the  astonishing  mercy  and  amazing  love  of  a  sin- 
p.»rfj..ninff  <  'od.  You  with  the  cong'egation  are  seated  below,  he 
h'm  the  pulpit  above,  as  if  having  come  from  on  high^  -*•     ''"*' 


TITE.  ArPLIOTED.  iOO 

irona  the  throne  of  the  orveat  King,  with  me-PRgff'S of  grace  to  you, 
rebels.  All  are  conipostci,  there  is  pvoibund  silence.  He,  with 
much  self  possession,  slowly  rises,  and  with  all  that  seriousness, 
and  solemnity,  and  gravity,  and  dignity,  and  pleasantness  which 
a  human  countenance  can  express,  looks  around  upon  he  assrrrv- 
bly,  and  bre?.ks  the  deep  silence,  by  saying — Ye  sons,  and  ye 
daughters  of  enrth,  it  has  long  be«-n  well  known  to  you  tiiat  your 
present  state  of  f'xisf<nce  is  not  happy.  The  cause  you  have  sought 
for.  Partially  tlie  light  of  nature  has  declared  it.*  The  book  of 
revelation  has  m  ide  it  known  fully.  This  book  I  have  examined. 
You  and  all  have  sinned,  and  are  rebels, against  heaven's  King, 
who  made  you,  and  to  whose  jurisdiction  you  belonged.  You  ;re 
jiere,  and  not  in  hell,  sure  proof  that  heaven's  King  is  merciful  as 
well  as  great.  Mercy,  strange  wird!  known  not  in  heaven,  nor  in 
hell,  nor  on  any  world  but  the  earth.  The  earth!  grand  theatre,  cho» 
sen  by  the  high  and  ancient  King,  whereon  to  display  that  other 
wi^e  unknown  thing,  (viz.)  mercy.  The  earth  rebelled.  Second  re- 
Bellion  in  his  reign.  The  first  rebels  received  no  quarters.  In  behalf 
of  a  p.irt,  at  least  of  those  of  the  second,  a  new  feeling,  never  he- 
fore  felt,  arose  in  the  eternal  Father's  mind.  This  was  a  feeling 
of  pity  towards  them,  and  this  feeling  he  called  mercy.  This 
fef'ling  s  ayed  his  hand,  and  he  did  not  thrust  ihem  down  beyo!>d 
hope.  His  Son  the  high  and  amiable  Prince  of  heaven,  touched 
by  the  sanifi  feeling,  vvith  all  reverence,  said  to  his  Father,  "  i'U 
mend  the  wrong  they  have  done,  whatever  be  the  cost  to  myself.^ 
The  Father  well  pleased  accepted  the  offer.  The  Son  undertook 
the  stupcmdous  work,  clearly  foreseeing  the  frightful  cost.  He 
to^»k  it  in  hand  immerti^.tely,  and  men  were  gov(  rned  with  steady 
reference  to  his  umlertaking.  It  was  not  required  by  the  F^Jher 
that  he  should  proceed  directly  to  the  execution  of  the  more  dread- 
ful part  of  the  work.  Previous  to  this,  men  might  be  saved  nd 
were  s;ivcd,  by  way  of  credit  from  the  Father  to  the  Son.  To 
execute  this  more  dreadful  pirt,  refjuired  the  descent  of  the  Prii.ce 
of  heaven  toeartb,  required  of  him,  incarnation,  humiliation  and 
indescribable  suffe'inss.  To  these  he  has  subini'ted.  And  ^he 
di  ine  Spirit  has  be^^n  sent  to  apply  the  salvation  wrought  out. — 
Tliese  are  the  counsels  of  mercv  and  of  orr?ce  which  moved  tho 
ind'^p^nden^  eternal  Fathe 's  mind  tow  rds  rebellious  men.  These 
atf  the  deeds  of  love  and  pity  performed,  for  them,  by  his  coeter- 
nal  Son. 

Y')U,  my  fellow  men,  with  all  your  race,  were  made  intelligent 
beings,  having  underst;  ndings  to  know  and  wills  to  choose. — > 
Yiuv  rebellion  ]v^s  impaired  these  but  not  deprived  you  of  hem. — ■ 
God  is  a  pevfpc.f  Sovereion,  ind  your  wiH^  tre  pe'ft'cHv  fiee. — = 
Tw»  truths  plain  and  easy  lo  be  undeislood  wheo  viewed  sepa . 


110  00?«SOLATIO?^   OF 

lately,  hut  if  you  attempt  to  reconcile  them,  the  undertaking  is 
al)0ve  your  present  powers.  'Tis  a  mystery  vvitii  whicii  you  have 
nothing  to  do.  Your  business  is  to  choose  or  refuse  tiiis  great  sal- 
vation. And  now,  my  dear  fellow  mortals,  being ''allowed  of  God 
to  be  put  in  trust  with  the  gospel,"  I  have  thus  preached  it  unto 
you.  "1  have  not  shunned  to  declire  unto  you  all  the  counsel  of 
God."  It  remains  for  you  to  determine  and  choose  how  you  will 
treat  it.  Will  you  believe  it,  repent  of  yourrebelliun,  throw  down 
your  arms  and*  accept  the  otFered  mercy,  have  hope  in  your  life, 
hope  in  your  death,  and  in  the  world  to  come,  perfect  happiness 
and  fulness  of  joy  fon.'vermore,  in  presence  of  heaveu's  iiigh,  and 
holy  and  happy  King,  and  all  the  pure  spirits  that  are  about 
him?  or  will  you  persist  in  your  rebellion,  slight  and  despise,  and 
reject  all  these  wise  and  rich  and  costly  provisions  of  grace,  and 
meet  the  doom  of  rebels?  Take  care,  O  ye  immortals!  take  all 
possible  care  how  you  decide  on  this  poini  1  No  decision  made 
by  human  beings  is  equal  to  this.  All  others  in  comparison  to  it 
dwindle  to  nothing.  On  it  is  poised  your  all.  Consider  what, 
as  rebels,  you  have  already  felt.  O  look  at  what  is  before  youj 
and  suffer  your  minds  to  glance  one  thought,  one  slight  view  to 
what  heaven  has  done  and  offers;  and  the  arms  of  your  rebellion 
will  drop  to  the  ground,  your  hearts  will  melt  with  sorrow,  and 
you  will  embrace  with  your  whole  souls  the  offered  salvation. — 
May  heaven''s  merciful  King  grant  the  same.     Amen. 

You  listened  to  the  discourse  with  both  your  ears  and  all  your 
heart.  And  as  the  spi.'aker  delivered  it  with  deep  feeling,  great  earn- 
estness, and  burning  zeal,  and  pious  persuasion,  you  embraced  the 
"  good  tidings  of  j^reat  joy"  with  every  feeling  of  your  soul ;  you 
rejoiced  and  exulted  to  receive  pardon  and  salvation  from  heaven's 
offended  King.  You,  now  at  the  close,  look  around  upon  the  con- 
gregation to  see  if  all  appear  to  take  as  much  interest  in  hearing 
the*'  good  tidings  of  great  joy."  You  see  some  few  tliat  do,  some 
careless,  others  asleep.  Not  so  with  you.  One  good  effect  of  your 
afflictions  is  to  make  you  hungry  and  eager  to  hear  the  kind  mes- 
jiages  of  grace,  the  free  offers  of  pardon  and  life.  They  give  all 
parts  of  your  religious  exercises  a  sweeter  relish  than  otherwise  they 
are  apt  to  have.  Thus  at  church,  you  enjoy  religion  and  are  con- 
soled. You  retire  with  the  retiring  congregation,  and  as  you  walk 
al.ng  you  think  of 

THE  PRINCE  OF  HEAVEN, 
the  Son  of  God,  Je-^us  Christ.  You  say  to  yourself,  in  the  pioui 
and  silent  medititions  and  musings  of  your  heart,  is  it  possd^e?  is 
it  posiMp?  did  the  Prince  of  heaven  do  nnd  suffer  all  these  things 
forme?  Is  it  a  ''fiiibful  siying  and  worthy  of  ^dl  accept:.' ♦ion, 
that  Christ  Jesus  came,  into  the  world  to  save  sinners,"  and  me  who 


THE    AFFLICTEB.  Ill 

am  one  of  the  chief  of  sinners?  The  bible  declares  it,— -he 
preocher  declares  it — the  Saviour  when  on  eurth  proved  it,  and  my 
heart  loves  him,  and  ihis  is  pioof  to  me  thil  he  died  not  only  for 
sinners  but  for  me  a  sinner.  O  the  love  of  Jesus!  ihe  love  of 
Jesus,  the  Prince  of  heaven!  how  great!  liow  great!  re  chujg  from 
heaven  ^oedth,  ;'i.(!  drawing  him  down  from  the  throne  of  all  hon- 
or, and  glory  and  blessedness  to  a  cross  of  lowest  shame  and  un- 
uttoralile  wo! 

You  think  cf  the  "  glorv  which  he  had  wi!h  the  Father  before 
the  world  was."  That  he  vv-s  the  "  brightness  of  his  Fiither's  glory 
and  the  express  im:  se  of  his  person,  uphold  ng  all  things  by  the 
word  of  his  powe'.*'  That  the  Father  said  unto  him — '' Tiiy 
throne,  O  God,  is  for  ever  and  ever."— That  he  created  ''  all  things 
visible  and  invisibh  ."  That  the  father  said  "  let  all  the  angles  of 
God  worship  him."  "  And  that  in  him  dwelleth  all  the  fulness 
of  the  Godhei.d  bodily." 

You  call  to  your  recollection  every  'hing  that  is  said  of  him  in 
the  scriptures.  You  think  of  every  attiiluteof  his  whole  chirac- 
ter  as  God  and  m;.n,  and  every  trait  by  which  he  ise.xhibited  to  an- 
gles and  men.  Un^o  the  angels  he  is  good  and  im}3arteth  unto 
them  {;f  his  fulness;  so  that  they  love  him  much  and  v^orship  him 
continually.  Un^o  men  and  to  you,  he  is  much  more  thnn  good; 
he  is  merciful.  Theiefore  your  lo\e  iiim  more  and  would  desire 
to  excel  the  angles  in  his  worship,  in  him  every  excellence  cen- 
tres. Hischaracier  is  complete  and  nothing  can  be  added  unto 
him.  He  is  the  glovy  of  tlie  heavens,  and  the  joy  of  the  wh(;le 
earth!  Your  love  and  gratitude  and  attachment  and  devotion  un- 
to  him  are  so  great,  that  the  4anguf>ge  of  your  whole  heart  is 
•'  When)  have  1  in  heaven  liut  thee?  and  there  is  none  upon  earth 
that  I  desire  decides  thee.?' 

Thus  in  meditating  upon  the  character  of  the  Prince  of  heaven, 
the  Saviour  of  men,  you  enjoy  religion,  And  yourenjoyment  will  be 
equal  in  meditating'upon  tlie character  of  tlieeternul  Father.  You 
will  !)e  in  no  danger,  of  honoring  the  Son  more  than  the  Father.  As 
you  are  affiicied  and  specially  need  comfort,  you  think  much  of 
the  great  comforter.  In  all  ihe  scenes  tlirough  which  you  pass,  and 
particiilarly  in  all  your  religious  exercises  end  experience,  you 
meditate  very  observingly  and  most  deeply  concerning  his  gifts 
and  graces  and  operations  which  are  within  you.  You,  like  v\\ 
others,  once  had  no  religion,  w«s  a  child  of  nature,  wi-hout  these 
gifts  and  graces ^nd  operations;  but  now,  the"  love  of  God  i«  shed 
abroad  in  vour  heart  by  the  Holy  Ghost  which  is  given  unto  yon." 
You  are  «  the  tojnple'of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  the  spirit  of  God 
dwelleth  in  yo;."  "  The  Spirit  itself  bejre^h  witne-^s  with  your 
spirit  that  vou  are  a  child  of  God."     '<  And   if  a  child,  then  an 


ilg  CONSOLATION'S  OF 

heir,  an  heir  of  God,  and  a  joint  heir  with  Christ.^'  An  h^ir  ^»  to 
an  inlieritance  incorruptible,  iindetiled,  and  tin;  f.jdeUi  nol  aw  :y, 
veservi-;d  in  heaven  for  you.*"  The  spirit  itself  heareth  vviiness 
with  your  spirit  of  ihese  great  and  most  comforiablp.  ficts,  iliat 
you  are  no  longer  a  child  of  nature,  but  a  child  of  Ciod,  nnd  % 
joint  heir  with  Christ  the  Pinc^  of  hejven;  whiise  inht;riiance  >9 
very  large  and  extensive,  in  his  Father's  dominions.  Luge 
enough  to  divide  out  liberally  to  all  those  who  >r' joint  heiis  \\\[h. 
him.  So  large  that  the  number  of  ihese  cannot  be  ao  much  in- 
c;  eased,  but  thai  he  will  beabU.Mo  give  uno  everyone  to  the  full  ex- 
tent of  iiis  01  her  wishe«.  And  becatise  the  gr-int  which  every  one 
shall  receive,  will  be  thus  c  mmensurate  with  every  iiidividn  d's 
largest  desires,  it  is  called  his  inheriting  all  ihinus.  "  He  tl^it 
ovcrcomoth  shall  inlierit  all  things;  and  1  will  hn  his  Cod  and  he 
shall  be  my  son  "  'J'hus  while  "'•  the  spi'it  itspjf  heareth  witness 
with  your  spiiit  that  you  are  a  child  of  God,"  it  heareth  witness 
that  you  sh:jll  eventually  inherit  all  your  heart  can  wish,  shall  in- 
herit all  things,  and  he  a  son  of  < -od,  like  unto  the  Priiiceof  hea- 
ven his  first  horn.  When  the  Spirit,  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  great 
Comforter  is  thus  within  you,  comforting  you  and  teaching  you 
and  bruiiiing  to  your  rememberance  all  the  things  of  Christ,  what- 
soever he  has  said  and  done  for  your  salvation,  and  giving  you 
strength  and  courage  to  suppress  all  doubts,  and  a  full  assurance 
of  faith  and  hope  that  yon  ~wdl  ultimately  conquer  and  triuiTiph 
over  all  enemies  visible  and  invisible,  ;md  enter  into  and  take  pos- 
session of  the  above  heavenly  inheritance,  you  enjoy  religion  and 
are  consoled.  Indeed,  my  d^-ar  friend,  this  is  the  highest  enjoy- 
ment of  religion.  This  is  the  enjoyni'^nt  of  ^>od;  and  together 
with  what  wehnve  said  of  'he  Father  and  the  Son,  is  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  triune  God,  which  is  the  fullest  consolaticn  a  creature 
on  enrfh  cnn  have,  and  which  is  the  last  I  shall  attempt  to  suggest 
to  your  thong!]ts. 

These  are  your  personnl  enjoyments  of  leiigion.  And  it  pleas- 
eth  the  God  of  grace  to  j>rnnf  you  tliese  from  time  to  time,  as  vou 
move  along  in  life,  and  need  consolation.  This  is  religion,  and 
you  increase  in  it  mor<»  and  more,  and  abound  and  grow,  "  and 
hope  to  continue  to  gvow  till  yo'i  siidl  come  unto  a  perfect  man, 
unto  the  mesure  of  the  stnture  of  the  fulness  of  Christ." 

I  have  now  my  dear  afflicted  fellow  su^erer,  according:  to  my 
feeble  abilities,  performed  tlie  task  I  to(*k  in  hand.  lam  done. — 
I  haveJMOUtrht  nil  things  to  your  view,  or  at  least  given  yoti  a  clew 
to  all  thinizs.  To  nature,  throughout  her  multiform  and  vast  df>- 
m-in;  and  to  nature's  God,  who  is  the  God  of  Abraliarn,  the  Cod  of 
our  fathers,  -md  the^^od  ^^f  s;.lva*ion.  Accordiidy  you  lurn  yotir 
attention  to  tliese  things,  and  thoughts,  and  considerations,  to  ob 


THE   AFPLICTEM.  llS 

1-ahi  cnnsoiation  and  exhilarating  cordials  as  you  move  on  in  the 
eJ.iTk  vAh'.y  of  adversity.  You  reap  more  or  less  advtintagcs  from 
thern,  according  (o  the  gentleness  or  violence  of  your  disease,  and 
the  time  and  leisure  allowed  you. 

Thus  you  linger  alonnr,  witii  intervals  of  better  and  worse,  for 
weeks,  or  months,  or  p-rhaps  a  few  years.  BiU,  in  the  appoint- 
ments and  allotments  of  ^r<.vidcnce,  the  lime  has  arived  when  your 
di«e?se  instead  of  permitting  you  to  take  long  journeys,  or  neigh- 
hourhood  rides  or  widks,  or  even  dooryard  walks,  shuts  you  up  to 
the  contracted  circumference  of  y(tnr  room,  and  prostrates  you  up- 
on your  back  on  the  bed  of  sickness,  feebleness  and  languishment. 
This  is  now  your  undesirable  and  unlovely  condition;  your  consti- 
tution shattered;  the  animal  madiine  greatly  worn  and  WMstcd  and 
approaching  to  exhaustion  and  dissolution,  and  the  mind  almost 
un<". void  inly  dejected  and  discouraged. 

It  is  diincidt  now  to  hope  for  life,  but  difficult  as  it  may  be  you 
mvst  do  it.  You  have  be«^n  down  before,  and  quite  as  low  as  you 
are  ni»w,  and  from  that  depression  and  prostration,  you  neverthe- 
less arose  and  h^ve  since  seen  many  good  days  on  tlie  eartfj.  This 
y<.u  may  do  again,  notwithstanding  all  the  advantages  the  disease 
has  obtained  over  your  frame.  You  have  become  accustumed  to 
endure  pain  and  weakness,  and  may  endure  this  renewed  atlack  and 
rise  again!  Be  that  as  it  may  the  circumstances  under  which  you 
are  brought  down  nov/,  are  better  than  in  any  former  cf>se.  You 
have  had  time  after  time,  and  repeated  opporUmites  and  favorable 
ones  too,  to  think,  and  meditate,  and  foresee,  and  prepare  for  this 
season  of  sorrow  and  trial.  You  have  before  been  nigh  unto 
death  and  locked  the  monster  in  the  face.  You  have  had  time  to 
be  engaged  in  the  manner  I  have  described  above. — Time  to  con- 
verse with  your  friends— read  the  Bible,  and  other  books,  and  this 
book  of  consolations;  to  make  up  your  mind,  and  beiuMllre- 
specta  prepared  in  your  views  and  feeliegs  to  meet  whatever  Provi- 
dence may  have  before  you. 

You  are  at  this  lime  upon  your  back,  a  feeble  mortal  contend- 
ing and  si rnggrng  with  a  disease  which  has  long  waged  warupoa 
you,  and  often  got  the  better,  and  sunk  you  very  low;  and  is  now 
daily  sinking  you  lower  and  lower  than  ever  before.  Your  esse 
at  this  juncture  loses  ils  peculiarity  and  runs  into  the  case  of  ihe 
patient  described  in  the  former  part  of  this  work;  with  this  excep- 
tion tliat  your  sinking  or  rising  will  most  likely  be  much  more 
gradual  than  his.  To  th?it  case  I  refer  you.  I  shall  not  repeat  in 
so  full  a  manner,  the  d-scpption  of  the  serious  scene  tiirouoh 
which  you  are  passing,  nor  of  that  which  is  before  you  in  either  cale 
of  life  or  death.  I  have  already  mentioned  the  advantage  you  have 
over  him  in  the  slow  gradual  manner  in  which  vou  wefe"^broufT]it 

10  '  ^ 


114  CONSOLATIONS  OlP 

down.  In  other  respects,  like  him,  you  have  your  physician.-*^ 
Though  you  had  discliarged  him,  yd  now  he  comes  to  see  you  to 
do  you  wliat  Hule  good  he  can.  Your  friends  are  around  you. — 
You  have  their  aid,  cind  iheir  prayers,  and  pious  convers:Mion. — 
Your  good  minister  of  ihe  gospel  visits  y«!U.  And  your  fait{;fiil, 
guardian  nurse  is  conlinuuUy  with  you.  You  are  now  come  il.o 
acfjndition  more  serious  than  any  you  ever  knew  yourself  to  he  jn 
since  you  commenced  your  existence.  And  this  condition  is  he- 
coming  more  and  more  serious  every  day.  Your  disease  is  mani- 
festly gahiing  ground.  You  are  losing  strength  rapidly.  You  are 
already  so  much  reduced  as  t.  exhihit  to  view  rather  a  skeleton 
than  a  human  being  clothed  with  flesh.  There  is  a  crisis,  not 
m:my  weeks,  or  at  the  furthest  a  very  few  months  before  you, 
which  will  decide  to  which  world  you  beloncj,  the  visible  or  invisi- 
ble. The  wheels  of  time  are  steadily  rolling  you  on  t(»  it.  You 
have  no  way  to  stop  them,  and  you  cannot  stop  yourself.  You 
must  approach  this  crisis.  You  must  come  to  it.  *'  It  is  appointed 
unto  all  men  once  to  die  and  after  death  the  judgment."  Ijere 
you  speak  out  and  say  if  I- have  that  to  do,  ^*  lam  noi  afraid  to  die. 
There  is  no  fear  of  death  in  my  heart.  It  is  true  I  have  had  all 
the  advantages  of  which  you  have  spoken,  and  it  has  pleased  God 
to  bless  them  unto  me,  so  that  I  f<^el  entirely  prepared  to  meet 
death.  My  Saviour  has  robbed  him  of  his  sting,  and  removed  the 
glooms  from  about  him.  I  feel  much  of  the  confidence  of  the 
apostle,  when  he  said  "  I  am  now  leady  to  tje  offered  and  the  time 
of  my  departure  is  at  hand.  I  have  f  u^ht  a  good  fight,  T  have 
finished  my  course,  I  have  kept  the  f  ith  :  hmceforlh  there  is  laid 
up  for  me  a  crown  of  righteousuess,  which  the  Lord  the  righteous 
pidge  shall  give  me  at  that  day."  In  short  (^.o(\  is  with  me,  and  1 
feel  myself  to  be  a  cluistain.  And  to  you  mv  frif^nds  I  would 
sty,  and  to  the  world,  that  it  is  better  not  to  he  a  human  being, 
than  not  to  he  a  chn.stain.  Form-vself  I  can  s:!y  "I  jrng  to  eat 
of  that  tree  which  is  planted  in  the  m^dst  of  the  paradise  of 
God,  and  to  diink  of  the  pure  river,  cleat  as  crystal,  tliat  runs 
through  the  streets  of  the  Ne\\-Ternsc'lem.  I  long  to  be  refeshed 
with  the  souls  of  thein  that  are  under  ♦Ijc altar,  who  were  slain  for 
the  word  of  God,  and  tlie  testimony  that  they  lield;  and  to  have 
tho'^e  long  white  robes  given  mo,  that  I  may  w:,lk  in  white  r.niment 
with  those  glorious  saints,  who  have  washed  their  ga^tneuts,  and 
made  tliem  white  in  the  blood  of  the  L  imb.  VVhy  sljould  I  think 
it  a  strange  thing  to  be  removed  from  this  place,  to  that  where  my 
hope,  my  joy,  my  crown,  my  elder  Brother,  my  Head,  my  Father, 
my  Comforter,  and  '11  the  glorious  saints  are,  and  where  the  song 
of  Moses  and  the  Lamb  is  sung  jf>yfully;  where  we  shall  not  be 
compelled  to  sit  by  the  rivers  of  Babylon,  and  hang  up  our  harps 


THK     AFFLICTED.  115 

on  the  willow  trees,  but  shall  take  them  up,  and  sinsf  the  new  hal- 
Ifilijjah,  Bl.'ssiiio,  honor,  gk>ry  and  powrr,  to  liirn  iliat  sifs  upon 
the^thtono,  iind  to  tlie  Liiub,  for  ever  and  eve  ?  Wiiat  is  there 
under  the  old  v.inlt  of  the  hejven>^,  and  in  this  old-vvotn  earth, 
which  is  groaning  under  the  hondage  of  cor'upiion,  that  should 
m  tke  me  desire  to  rem  dn  here?  I  expect  thai  new  heaven  and 
new  eirth,  wherein  righteousness  dwelleth,  wherein  1  shall  rest  for 
evermore.  I  look  to  get  entry  to  the  New-Jerusdern  at  one  of 
these  twelve  gi^es,  whereupon  are  wiitten  the  nunes  of  the  twelve 
tribes  of  Isreil.  I  know  that  Jesus  Christ  h;Uh  prepared  them 
for  me.  Why  miy  I  not  «hen,  with  boldness  in  his  blood,  step  in- 
to thit  gl^ry,  wiiere  my  head  and  Lord  hath  gone  before  me? — 
Jc-siis  Christ  is  ihe  door  and  the  porter;  who  'hen  shall  hold  me 
on  ?  O  thou  fiirest  anions  tlie  children  of  men,  the  delight  of 
minkind,the  light  of  the 'lentiles,  the  glory  of  the  Jews,  the  life 
ol'  the  deid,  the  joy  of  angels  and  saints,  my  soul  p.nteth  to  be 
wi<h  thee." 

Tiiis  is  your  language  as  vou  approacli  the  crisis.  You  get  no 
better  and  ire  moving  on  to  it  constantly.  Some  days  have  now 
elipsed.  Yout  course  and  your  progress  are  still  onwards  and 
more  rapid.  You  approach  death,  and  death  you,  and  unles  there 
issotne  great  diingo  and  turning  about  there  will  have  to  be  a 
m^i-ting  between  you.  Not  merely  such  a  meeting  as  of  friendly 
ships  from  distant  ports  in  mid  ocean;  oras  of  friendly  travellerfl 
from  remote  parts  of  a  continent,  meeting  in  the  wilderness  and 
ch^>3:in7  eich oHiev's  hearts,  but  as  of  tierce  warriors  upon  the 
pi ;'u  f  single  combat.  Rither,  your  meeting  will  be  within  the 
confined  circunitV;renceof  this  room,  and  in  that  corner,  and  on  that 
bed  where  .you  now  lie.  It  is  yet  unc?rtain  what  the  result  of 
your  meeting  wdl  be,  whether  yon  will  have  to  surrender  or  death 
be  fjil'Ml  and  retire.  But  one  filing  is  certain;  at  this  moment 
you  are  not  far  apjrt,and  death,  like  a  heist  of  prey,  the  nearer  he 
gets  the  more  rapid  his  movements.  He  comes!  he  comes  I  Ol  lie 
com  <!  The  ffiends  gather  around,  but  all  in  vain.  The  combat  is 
single,  and  cannot  be  otherwise.  Friends  must  1  go?  Must  I  go? 
His  ^he  appointed  moment  come?  We  cantiot  tell.  It  looks  vcy 
much  like  it  If  so,  welcome  death  !  welcome  death !  welcome  death ! 
Will  all  thy  rudeness,  and  ferocity  and  ferril'le  aspect,  I  meet 
th->e  as  a  fiend.  Dear  relations  and  friends  of  e^rth!  Firewell! 
Fire'.veM!  I  cannot  stay!  I  go  to  seek  a  better  world!  Prepare  to 
follow!!  "  Piepareto  meet  vuir  God!!!"  Death  lays  hold  and  tho 
prey  is  his.  Sabbath  Morning,  Oct.  1,1  tU  1829. 


FOR  THE  YOUNG,  IIV  AFFLICTION; 


It  w'll  be  recollected  by  the  reader  that  I  promised  to  writc-^jy- 
several  classes  of  mankind,  who  might  be  in  affliction.  I  selected 
the  christian  community  for  the  first  class,  and  thus  far  have  writ- 
ten for  them.  I  select  the  young,  who  may  be  in  affliction,  for  the 
next  class.  This  is  a  very  interesting  part  of  mankind;  and  one 
which,  iniiealth,  stands  greatly  in  need  of  insiruction  and  correct 
feelings.  Much  more  so,  when  in  affliction.  That  person  who  is 
so  fiir  blessed  of  God  as  to  do  or  write  any  thing  which  shall  ex- 
tensively advance  their  intellectual  and  moral  interests,  is  indeed 
blessed  of  God,  and  in  no  small  degree  serves  his  generation.  Un- 
speakably great  is  the  responsibility  of  him  who  sets  himself  to 
this  task,  especially  in  the  way  of  writing.  Their  temporal  and 
eternal  destmies  may  be  suspended  upon  what  may  drop  from  his 
pen.  Their  usefuln^^ss  and  Inppiness  in  time  and  in  eternity. — 
To  do  or  say  any  thing  which  will  turn  a  large  number  of  them 
out  of  that  "way  in  which  they  should  go,*'  is  hke  turning  a  great 
river  out  of  its  course  at  its  head,  which  as  it  rushes  along  will 
desolate  the  country  through  which  it  passes.  Thus  they  will 
overrun  and  destroy  others,  and  in  the  destruction  will  destroy 
themselves.  Were  we  to  see  those  of  one  nation,  and  of  another, 
and  of  all  nations,  thus  misguided,  we  would  behoW  a  worW,  rush- 
ing to  desolation  and  destruction.  And  on  the  other  haixl,  if  they 
be  gtiided  into  "the  way  in  which  they  should  go,"  and  do  go  in 
that  way,  we  would  behold  a  world  regularly  moving  on  to  "glory, 
honor,  immortality,  yea,  and  eternal  life."  Such  is  the  weight, 
and  such  the  intrinsic  importance  of  what  is  done  to  guide  our 
youth.  It  is  far  from  being  the  object  of  the  writer  to  attempt,  in 
an  extensive  degree,  this  guidance.  I  write  for  the  afflicted,  and 
do  not  mean  lo  enlarge  on  what  I  may  be  enabled  to  introduce  to 
their  notice  and  consideration. 

Be  it  my  task  then  to  spej^k  unto  such,  in  a  plain,  easy,  familiar 
and  affectionate  style,  a  word  or  two  of  consolation.  Those  who 
are  yet  in  their  childhood  I  shall  not  stop  to  address.  Such,  who 
may  be  in  affliction,  (for  no  age  is  exempt,)  I  shall  leave  to  l>e con- 
Staled  by  their  parents  and  friends.     I  have  to  do  with  those  \vh© 


OnrTE    AFFLICTED.  IIT 

tfan  rpr^(?.  This  will  embrace  nil  from  ihe  aee  of  ten  to  twenty, 
w  i  J  !i .  ve  had  thy  prop  t  and  desirable  advant -ges  of  sc'iooliiig.  At 
this  lime  of  life,  both  sexos  are  liable  to  be  s -ized  by  diseises 
mo-eor  less  violont;  of  s[i<jrtpr  or  longer  continnmco,  but  the  fe- 
rn de  sex  IS  more  liable  th  m  the  othov,  pirticnl  irly  to  chronic  dis- 
orders. Arid  as  both  are  liable  todjserisea,  calamities  and  disas- 
ters of  all  kinds,  »hey  are  also  liable  t<»  death.  My  task  t  her  (fore, 
li;.e  that  which  I  b.ve  alreidy  perf  )rmed,  is  truly  a  serious  one. 

I  wish  r^ade.s  to  bear  sieadily  in  mind  the  notice  which  I  have 
before  given,  that  I  design  my  observations  to  be  applicable  to 
both  sexes.  I  shall,  as  heretofore,  use  the  word  person  wherever 
I  cm,  which  applies  with  equal  propriety  to  boih.  To  my  female 
reiders,  who  are  daughters  of  affliction,  I  would  say,  that  when  I 
am  compelled  to  use  the  words  heand  him,  while  at  the  same  time 
I  design  mv  discourse  for  both  sexes,  it  is  after  the  usage  of  wri- 
ters both  ancient  and  modern.  In  grammar,  when  both  genders 
are  addressed,  the  misculine  is  considered  the  more  wor  hy,  and 
is  used  in  preference  to  the  feminine.  This,  as  you  w^•ll  know, 
has  its  foundation  in  nature.  A>  you  read  along  then,  ve  fair 
on"s  in  trouble,  my  dear  sisters  in  affliction  and  sorrow,  it  is  o?dy 
necessary  for  you  to  substitute  the  words  she  and  her,  «fcc.,  in 
plice  of  he  and  him,  &c.,  in  order  to  receive  into  your  own  ten- 
der, but  aching  heirts,  the  consolations  that  may  be  offered. 

And  now  my  dear  juvenile  cotnpsnion  in  affliction,  mny  kind 
heaven  touch  mt/  heart  with  the  liveliest  sympathies,  while  I  hum- 
bly but  earnestly  attempt  to  pour  into  your  disconsolate  heart 
some  reviving  cordial,  some  ''oil  of  joy  for  mourning," and  to  pre- 
sent nnfo  you,  some  "garment  of  praise  for  tlie  spirit  of  heaviness." 
At  the  close  of  the  two  preceding  cases,  I  ventured  to  say  to  the 
patient,  that  1  had  brought  all  things  to  his  view  for  consolation, 
or  at  Ifast  given  him  a  clew  to  all  *hings.  But  this  I  did  without 
3pe(-ifying  or  particularizing  any  particular  characters  further  than 
thit  they  were  christians.  They  might  be  m  their  afflictions, 
young  or  oil,  poor  or  rich,  single  or  married,  at  home  surrounded 
by  a  belovpd  circle  of  dear  rel  itives  and  friends,  or  in  a  distant  or 
foreian  land,  strangers  among  strnngors.  « 

A<  [  had  in  that,  done  what  I  drsicjned  to  do  in  particularizinnr, 
in  T  s'fmm  try  way,  the  different  sources  of  consolation,  the  various 
things  cind  thoughts  and  bei.igs  which  might  contribute  to  the  re- 
lief or  help  of  the  sons  md  daughters  of  sorrow,  I  now  proceed 
to  the  executi(>n  of  mv  purpose  in  particularizing  characteis. — 
This  pirt  of  my  pi  in,  owing  to  its  nature,  ^nd  to  its  connection 
with  tiie  foregoing,  'vill  be  in  its  parts  even  more  summoy  tlian 
that.  I  h  ve  there  emhodit^l  tho  main  part  of  my  consolations. — 
In  what  follows  it  will  be  mv  chief  business  to  refer  several  di&r- 

10* 


118  CONSOLATIONS  OF 

ent  classes  of  mankind  to  them,  and  tell  them  how  to  receive  antf 
appropriate  them.  In  short  it  will  be  to  attend  to  the  peculiaii- 
ties  of  their  cases,  rather,  as  it  respects  iheir  standing  and  condi- 
tion in  society,  than  the  ditFerent  diseases  which  may  be  praying 
upon  them. 

Accordingly,  I  procct^d  to  consider  your  case,  my  dear  young 
friend.  YoJi  are  young;  and  this  is  that  grand  piiculicirily  in  your 
character  and  condition  to  which  1  now  di>ect  my  attention.  Al- 
most literally,  you  "are  of  yesierday."  Accoiding  to  the  purpose 
and  by  the  power  and  order  of  the  eternal  Creaior,  you  sprang  into 
existence,  but  a  short  time  since,  upon  the  earth.  Out  of  notliing 
you  made  your  appearance  here  ui)on  this  struggling  world,  'J'ho' 
struggling,  yet  it  is  fascinating,  and  often  promises  to  its  inhabi- 
tants, especially  to  the  new  comers  among  them,  great  and  flatter- 
ing things.  Indeed  to  the  new  comers,  this  it  almost  alw;y« 
does.  Tims  it  did  to  you.  As  soon  as  your  senses  began  to  open 
and  notice  its  surrounding  objects,  you  were  allured  and  elated 
with  the  prospect.  Like  all  that  are  born  of  women,  at  your  intro- 
duction to  its  scenery  you  were  entirely  ignorant  of  its  nature  and 
•onditiori.  You  mistook  this  wilderness  of  thorns  and  briars  for 
a  paradise,  and  vainly  thought  the  people  here  hnppy.  In  this 
manner  you  passed  the  days  of  your  childhood,  without  any  great 
or  signal  check  in  your  thoughts,  and  views,  and  feelings  and  pro- 
gress. External  things  and  circumstances  continued  fair  and  in- 
viting. No  dark  cloud  intruded  itself  info  the  atmosphere  of  your 
prospects,  to  put  out  your  hopes  and  cover  you  with  gloom.  The 
5tate  of  internal  things  was  equally  flattering.  You  grew  with  a 
vigorous  and  rapid  growth,  and  you  daily  felt  an  increase  of  strengtk 
in  your  frame.  Your  limbs  and  features,  and  whole  person,  were 
VGgnlM  and  well  proportioned,  and  as  you  advanced  towards  ma- 
turity of  growth,  api)eared  more  and  more  noble  and  grand  to 
others,  but  especially  to  yourself.  Your  hair  was  fine  and  beauti- 
fiil.  Your  eye  penetrating  and  attracting.  The  rose  in  all  the 
fVeshness  and  glory  of  its  bloom  perched  upon  your  cheek.  Not 
ai  wrinkle  or  furrow,  as  yet,  had  trials  and  sorrow  plougljed  across 
the  lineaments  of  your  noble  featues.  Your  lips  smiled  graceful 
ly  and  pleasantly,  and  you  had  entirely  come  up  to  the  bloom  of 
life.  But  what  is  more  than  all,  you  were  an  almost  entire  stran- 
ger to  sickness  and  pain.  Scarcely  a  d^iy  had  you  felt  even  slightly 
ill.  Scarcely  a  single  ptiin  had  you  discovered  in  any  part  of  your 
frame.  The  foiintain  of  life  flowed  full  and  healthy,  throughout 
your  whole  system.  Then,  it  was  sweet  to  eat — it  was  sweet  to 
Sileep.  Your  mind,  your  mind,  was  so  easy  and  so  much  delight- 
ed, yea,  intoxicated,  that  you  were  almost  constantly  employed  ia 
bmiding  castles  ifl  the  air,  as  we  say  in  modera  phraseology.— 


THB   AFFLrCTB».  119 

And  into  one  of  these  cas>les,  with  your  head  full  of  sche'ues, 
yoM  h;id  rnouii'ucl,  t^ti-  above  the  level  and  oidinaiy  niovf^ments  of 
per.-Jons  of  riper  yenis  and  more  experience.  But  at  length,  the 
iinih<;ught  of  aud  undreidrd  moment  comes,  and  a  fell  diseasa 
creeps  up  the  long  ascent  to  wliere  you  are,  puts  out  its  merciless, 
mighty,  monstrous  h.ind,  def'ces  your  heauty,  teais  from  you  your 
strength,  and  hrealjs  your  hold.  Down  heidlong, from  your  lofiy, 
aeaal  height,  you  fall,  with  a  sudden  shock  and  dreadful  crush! 
O!  my  dear  young  prostrated  friend,  I  admit  you  need  consolation! 
you  do  indeed  greatly  need  consolaiion  1  And  if  the  disease  which 
has  laid  hold  on  you,  is  violent  and  raging,  you  need  it  hastily  or 
it  niiiy  come  forever  too  late.  But  in  either  case,  whether  vio- 
lent or  rnoderaie,  were  your  tongue  to  attempt  to  express  the  feel- 
ings of  your  aching  heart,  and  could  it  use  words  most  expressive^ 
all  in  the  superlative  degree,  it  would  utterly  fail  to  express  the  m- 
tensity  of  your  desires  for  consolation,  relief  and  restoration  to 
health.  The  thought,  the  keenly  penetrating  thought,  that  all 
your  earthly  hopes  mtty  now  be  blasted,  in  addition  to  the  pains 
you  feel,  gives  a  sting  to  every  nerve,  and  harrows  up  all  the  ex- 
quisitively  unhappy  feelings  of  your  disconsolate  soul. 

VVhr^t!  say  you,  to  be  pulled  down  and  stopped,  and  it  may  l>€ 
cut  off,  in  the  very  bloom  of  life!  not  in  the  midsl  of  my  days 
but  in  the  very  beginning  of  them!^  not  when  my  career  is  half  or 
almost  run,  but  just  at  its  commencement!  O!  how  irreconcila- 
ble the  thought!  how  intf»lerable!  I  cannot  bear  it !  I  cannot  bear 
it!  it  will  break  my  heart!  it  will  indeed  bre^k  my  heart !  Perhaps 
not,  my  friend.  It  is  possible  thot  it  is  one  of  the  best  things  that 
has  ever  yet  happened  to  you.  It  may  bring  you  to  your  senses, 
and  help  to  teach  you  the  nature  of  this  world,  and  of  yourself, 
and  of  the  great  and  good  and  terrible  God  who  made  you  and 
governs  you. 

And  this  study  is  the  very  first  thing  to  which  I  shall  endeavol 
to  turn  your  attention,  in  order  to  your  receiving  consolation.  It 
is  the  want  of  knov.ing  this  world,  and  yourself  and  God,  which 
not  merely  adds  to  yotir  present  trouble,  but  actually  makes  up  a 
large  part  of  it.  I  wotdd  therefore  most  seriously  r,nd  most  warm 
ly  recommend  this  study  to  you,  no  matter  how  well  and  intimate- 
ly you  mriy  have  before  thought  yourself  acour.inted  with  the?:e 
things.  No  matter  if  you  have  before  this,  considered  ynnrsdt  a 
christian  and  even  m-tde  a  profession  of  chrisii;<nity.  You  are 
young,  and  have  niuch  to  learn,  and  many  things  to  learn  ovef 
and  over  agiin.  'Vhc-  things  or  sciences  vvhicli  I  do  so  earre-ily 
ad'ise  you  to  learn  at  this  tinte,  in  order  to  the  soothing  of  »our 
breaking  heart,  do  not  require  the  opportunities  of  an  andemic 
or  collegiate  course.     You  can  leurn  tlieija  in  your  afflicted  au<3 


i^d  ao!vsoLATroyg  op 

fee!>le  condition,  and  perhaps  more  rapidly  and  to  better  pnrposc 
Confined  to  youi  bick  thin  in  'iiiy  othtjr  situaiion.  in  adirion 
then,  to  whir  I  hivesiid  in  \he  forincir  part  of  my  book,  to  winch 
I  now  refer  you  for  every  tfnng  wliich  you  cm  apply  lo  youiself,  I 
Woidd  siy  U)  you,  in  order  to  suii  your  special  cise  as  a  youthful 
SUiferer,  look  arc  ind  up>.n  *he  world,  und  try  to  see  and  discover 
not  what  if  appears  to  k-,  Ijut  what  it  really  is.  Vir  w  it,  in  all  its 
shapes  and  fjrms  and  par*s  and  append  ge^-,  in  its  ch..nges  and  re- 
volutions, in  its  honors  and  emoluments,  in  i<.s  joys  and  sorrows, 
and  in  is  emptiness  of  good  and  fuhier^sof  evil.  Afier  you  h.ive 
d(me  this  most  aiten»ively,  and  contiijued  it  as  long  as  your  dis- 
ease and  circ  ims  ances  will  perrni  ,  then  pause  and  asii  yourself 
whether  this  world  is  in  reality  so  line,  so  valuable  and  excellent  a 
thing,  that  an  immortal  being,  such  as  you  are,  should  break  his 
heart  about  it,  even  if  it  is  known  to  him  that  ho  must  leave  it  in 
a  few  days.  Yei,  go  further  and  suppose  that  you  are  not  called 
nor  compolhd  to  leave  it  in  a  few  days,  hut  permitted  to  accom- 
plish your  mosi  sanguine  and  aspiring  schemes,  and  have  as  much 
of  the  world  at  your  command  as  your  heart  craves  ;  and  settle 
the  question  wMether  it  will  satisfy  the  cravings  of  your  undying, 
immortal  and  imperishable  soul.  To  assist  you  in  this  business, 
which  is  so  well  calculated  to  bring  resignation  and  consolaiioa 
into  your  disappoint(;d  heart,  call  to  your  aid  those  of  greater  age. 
Inquire  of  your  paients,  and  the  old  people,  yea,  the  oldest  to 
"whom  you  have  access,  what  their  sentiments  and  feelings  are  con- 
cerning the  world.  And  they  will  te'l  you,  unless  they  speak 
what  their  hearts  know  to  be  untrne,  th.it  it  has  never  realized 
their  expectations.  That  it  has  been  continually  disappointing 
them  from  year  to  year  throughout  their  whole  lives,  no  matter 
how  successful  thev  wf^ro  in  laying  hold  of  it  and  having  if  at 
their  commmd.  And  if  these  disappointments  have  taught  them 
Vv'isdom  and  virtue,  and  made  them  rich  in  valuable  experience, 
they  will  tell  you  that  they  have  Ions  since  come  to  'he  full  and 
d'Cided  concbi-ion,  that  this  miterial  world  utterly  fiils  to  satis- 
fy the  wants  and  desires  of  spirit.  That  tliey  have  clearly  found 
its  true  place  to  be,  where  it  ifi  placed,  under  your  feet,  ind  no*  in 
your  mind.  This,  no  doubt,  your  parents  and  those  around  you, 
revorend  with  age  and  wisd(;ni,  ofien  told  you,  in  the  cJ;  ys  of  your 
flourishing.  But  you  were  not  only  illprt^pared  but  entiely  un- 
prepared to  listen  to,  mach  less  believe,  their  old  fashioned  lec- 
tures and  dry  talk.  Perhaps  at  this  tim«^  you  are  in  a  belter  con- 
dition, not  only  to  listen,  but  to  believe  too.  You  are  in  the  way 
to  h<ve  a  lit'le  exp«  ripnce  as  well  as  they.  Exp*  rience  is  the 
best  teach'^r.  Th*^  ruth^  which  it  d eel  ires  and  iiiculcates,  yon 
oannot  deny  or  doubt,     Experience,  is  seeing  and  feeling  for  our- 


:^HE    AFFLICTED.  lA 

selves,  and  when  we  thus  feel  and  endure  and  gfoan,  we  know 
for  o'irc;.^lves.  [f  all  the  grayheaded,  sober  and  wise  ones  of  the 
coiintry  had  gathered  round  you,  and  employed  ail  their  skill  and 
most  ardent  zeal  to  teach  and  persuade  and  exhort  you  to  believe 
the  aoove  truih  concerning  the  nature  of  this  world,  it  would  have 
been  all  in  vain;  they  could  have  made  no  impression  on  you. — 
Bat,  it  is  a  vitally  important  matter  to  believe  and  know  this  truth, 
and  you  are  now  in  the  way  to  come  at  this  knowledge.  You  are 
in  the  way  to  know  how  to  think  about,  and  view  and  use  this 
world.  In  this  respect  your  condition  is  actually  better  tlian  il  was 
before,  and  this  should  not  fail  to  give  you  consolation. 

After  you  have  pursued  this  study  long  enough,  and  become  bet- 
ter acquainted  with  the  world,  yon  will  find  out  that  every  thing  that 
promises  here  below,  does  no?  fulfil  its  promise.  That  the  clear 
sunshine  of  the  moTning  of  life,  may,  ev<3n  before  the  morriin?  is 
past,  be  dreadfully  darkened  wit!)  thick  clouds.  That  high  hopes 
and  high  heids  may  be  brought  low.  That  prosperity  is  not  the 
uninterrupted  lot  of  m^.n.  That  the  world  is  not  in  reality  so  ftir 
and  beautiful  ond  excellent  as  it  appears  to  be.  That  it  is  not  al- 
ways in  bloom  and  when  it  is,  there  are  among  the  flowers  and 
blossoms,  thorns  and  briers,  pointing  outwards.  Jn  siiort,  that  it 
is  not  a  paradise,  but  a  world  laboring  and  groaning  under  ibe  curse 
of  its  Creator. 

When  you  have  advanced  thus  far  in  your  thoughts  and  medita- 
tions and  conclusions  concerning  the  world,  then  look  arotmd  and 
see  how  others  are  treated;  what  are  their  lots,  iheir  vicissitudes 
and  changes,  their  success  and  disappointments,  and  their  jr.ys  .^nd 
sovrovvs.  In  doing  this,  I  would  specially  recommend  it  to  you, 
to  bnng  within  the  compass  of  the  view  of  your  mind,  all  your 
fellow  youths  who  have  f^lt  shocks  like  yours,  and  were  cut  off,  or 
are  now  laboring  under  disease.  This  done,  turn  your  e5'es  inw-rd 
and  study  yourself.  See  what  better  you  are  than  they.  Ask 
yourself  wlio  you  are?  what  your  real  character  is?  Howyou  s*and 
in  comparison  with  others?  whether  there  are  any  peculiar  and  in- 
trinsic qualities  and  excellencies  within  you,  on  account  of  which 
yo'i  should  be  exempt  from  the  calamities  which  fall  upon  the  sous 
of  men?  what  right  and  claims  you  have  upon  the  great  Rder  which 
he  will  disregard  nnd  vi<»late  if  h*:*  does  not  give  you  all  your  way, 
and  lot  you  have  your  whole  bean's  desire?  Be  very  cautious  how 
you  come  to  the  conclusion  that  you  have  some  such  claims,  f<)r 
older  and  wiser  persons  would  greatly  doubt  t'-e  cornrtness  of  such 
a  concluson.  Repeat  and  pursue  the  study.  En'er  into  a  de(>p  and 
thorough  ex'minuion  of  yourself,  that  you  may  know  yourself, 
foV/thls  is  the  l»esr  kind  of  ktiowledge,  and  indisp  iisJiblv  ne- 
o^ssary  to  your  receiving  consolation.     Bt^cause  if  you  are  igna- 


12S  CONSOLATIONS  6v 

lant  of  yonrsnlf,  yon  will  think  of  yourself  not  accordin/»  to  tnjthj 
not  according  .0  your  real  chnrac^er:  and  v; ill  thciefore  be  expc;!- 
in<j  thinjzs  tliiit  do  not  belonsf  to  you.  Whereas,  if  you  are  so  li  .p* 
py  as  to  arrive  at  a  good  degree  of  self  knowledge,  you  will  better 
know  what  are  yonr  merits  and  demerits,  your  good  deserts  ^nd  ill 
deserts.  Aiid  if  I  mistakenot  you  will  find  your  good  deserts  to 
be  very  few,  ^nd  your  ill  deserts  very  numerous.  Your  good  'e- 
serts  from  men  may  be  many,  but  from  God  certainly  not.  Y  11 
may  deserve  many  more  from  men  than  you  receive  from  them  or 
are  likely  to  receive.  If  yuu  cannot  get  your  dese^^s  from  tht  m, 
you  will  have  a  secret  con'=!olation,  at  least,  that  you  are,  in  truth, 
better  and  more  deserving  than  the^y  think  you  to  be.  Though  it 
w  »nld  be  a  tniich  greiter  consolation  if,  in  this  time  of  trial,  they 
vvoald  give  you  your  dues.  The'^e  however  no  min  gels  of  his 
fellow  men,  whether  he  is  deserving  of  lit»le  or  more.  F:oin  this 
coasidenition  then,  that  you  are  treated  as  others,  let  a  consolation 
come  into  you   breast. 

But  again,  if  while  your  eyes  are  looking  inwards  you  have  a 
full,  and  unbiassed  and  correct  view  of  all  your  passions,  all  .'le 
feelings  of  yt»ur  mind  thai  have  existed  and  do  now  exist  towanis 
men  and  towards  ('od,  this  may  be  an  item  of  self  knowh^dge  which 
m  y  do  you  more  good  than  all  the  miner's  gold,  or  all  tlie  hon  is 
of  the  world  in  which  you  live.  If  this  knowledge  has  its  genu- 
ine good  effect  upon  you,  it  will  mike  you  feel  very  huml)le  if  not 
very  peniient.  Altogether  difff^ent  froju  the  manner  in  which 
yoM  but  now  felt,  when  mounted  >loft  with  your  head  fidl  of  earth- 
ly empty  schemes.  As  you  are  thus  lookitig  in  upon  your  p-jssionf^ 
and  rcinemliering  what  they  \v\vo  been,  how  nfen  perturbed,  and 
violent  and  vengeful  and  r'liiious  to  yourself  nu  1  others;  and  re- 
mrnhering  too  the  deeds  w!iich  tb-y  have  often  caused  you  to 
coaioii^;  but  above  al!,  retrimhering  lint  both  have  always  J)<*en 
''n^ked  and  open"  to  the  ev<'S  of  the  eternal  and  allseeing  Ood; 
and  'h\i  he  has  been  continually  looking  upon  them  ever  since 
y-n  h  d  passions  and  was  rhe  auilior  of  deeds,  -nd  that  you  are 
accouatahle  'o  him  f  r  every  imprejier  feeling,  as  well  as  e^ery 
idle  word,  vou  may  indeed  be  greatly  humbled  -nd  very  pem'ent. 
Yf'ur  consol.'ion  that  will  arise  from  this  sourc<-  .vill  come  from 
the  ficts,  thjit — "  'before  honor  cometh  humility,"  and  befor  *  bad 
passions  and  bad  words  and  bad  deeds  are  pardoned,  mm  must 
repen*  of  them.  By  this  view  of  yo  ;rself  an  1  ihe  thought  tljat 
"  «ad  seetli  you,"  you  will  ^p  naturally  led  on  to  learn  what  you 
cau  of  this  infinite  and  f^nful  beinir. 

You  will  find  him  to  be  frotn  everlasting,  self  existent,  indepen- 
dpi^t,  and  possesse;!  of  all  o«her  perfections.  The  great  One  who 
made  all  things  and  reignelh  over  all.     It  is  youi  duty  as  an  in- 


THE  AFFLirTED.  "123 

telli^ent  being  to  cFo  whit  you  can  to  learrv  anci  mMitafe  upon,  and 
admire  and  love  every  perfeclion  of  this  august  one.  This  is  that 
for  which  he  mnde  you,  und  in  which  you  ought  to  be  eng^gvd 
botli  Ml  time  and  in  eternity.  But  always  according  to  the  cir- 
cumsfmces  in  which  you  are.  You  are  now  in  your  youth,  and 
not  only  so  hut  afflicted,  and  it.  is  |)ossib!e  you  may  die  in  a  short 
time.  Your  ciicumst;inces  therefore,  do  not  require  of  you  to  at- 
tempt to  study,  at  this  time,  all  his  holy  per  fee  ions,  in  the  man- 
ner in  which  a  theological  student  does.  You  may  do  whit  you 
can  at  this,  but  it  will  be  your  proper  and  special  business  to  view 
him  as  he  stands  related  to  yourr^elf.  Y(iu  aie  a  being  of  feeling. 
You  are  capable  of  endmiiig  pain  or  enjoying  happiness.  You 
have  8lre:idy  tasked  some  litUe  of  the  latter  and  have  endured  and 
are  now  enduring  much  of  the  former.  The  great  prnctic  il  ques- 
tions with  you  t;ien  are,  how  will  G(jd  order  this  for  me  as  I  advance 
in  time  and  in  the  eternal  world?  what  is  liis  natu  e?  how  does  he 
view  me?  will  I  be  happy  or  misf;,ral»le?  i  his  leads  me  on  to  ask 
you  my  dear  fellow  mortal  whether  you  are  a  christian  or  noi?— ^ 
These  questions  which  you  ask  concerning  C-od  nud  yourself,  1 
feel  myself  warranted  in  STying  I  cnn  ari'^wer.  If  you  live  and 
die  a  cAr/. Y/an,  yoii  will  be  happy,  if  you  do  not,  ynn  will  be  mis- 
erable. If  you  hive  evidence  that  ye.u  are  a  chrislian,  my  duty 
wi'h  respect  to  you  is  done.  .  The  former  parts  of  my  b#ok,  to 
which  I  have  referred  yo«i,  contain  all  that  I  cnn  s:ty  for  yon,  v^'hate- 
ver  be  the  nature  of  your  disease*  or  the  time  when  you  must  die. 
All  that  is  said  there  you  cnn  easily  appropriate  to  yourself.  But 
if  you  are  not  a  christian  and  know  that  you  are  not,  much  of  it 
will  not  be  applicable  to  you,  and  my  most  serious  and  earnest 
and  wnm  advice  and  exhortation,  is  to  become  one  without  de- 
hy .  Now  is  the  time  of  salvation,  now  is  the  diy.  now  is  the 
hour.  If  you  are  not  a  christian  no  consolations  will  come  into 
your  heart  from  the  invisible  world.  And  if  you  are  atlhis  time 
called  to  die,  I  can  discover  not  one  sinijle  consolatory  considera- 
tion before  you,  but  all  that  is  disconsolate.  When  I  attempt  to 
look  for  consolation  for  you,  I  am  utterly  foiled  and  look  in  vain. 
1  cnn  see  nothing  before  you  but  darkness,  thick  darkness  and 
woes  worse  than  diseases  bring,  woes  so  g'eat  that  nothing  but  the 
p*^n  of  iiispiration  cm  dH>^c"ibe  them.  Ynu  will  see  the  description 
in  the  Bible.  The  condition  in  which  you  are,  thit  of  affliction, 
is  one  of  the  best  to  induce  yon  to  become  a  christian.  And 
youth  is  the  proner  se  tson,  the  spring  time  of  religion  as  well  as 
of  life.  Should  you  listen  to  my  advice  and  exhortation,  and  to 
the  advice  and  exhortations  of  your  friends,  arid  to  the  v(»ice  of 
Providence,  to  tlie  voice  of  Cod,  and  in  tnith  .ind  reality  become  a 
christian,  all  the  coitsolations,  the  strong  consolations  that  cluster 


124  OOKSOLATIONS   OF 

around  the  christian's  heart,  would  gather  round  yours  and  stitu- 
ujatt^  and  encourage  and  sU(>port  you  living  or  dying.  And  if 
you  aie  so  far  blessed  as  to  uo  so  u)id  have  the  christian  charac- 
ter, there  is  but  one  more  thought  which  \  shall  attempt  to  bring 
to  your  consideration.  And  that  is,  that  you  are  an  immortal  be- 
ing! uid  though  but  a  few  years  old,  have  made  sure  of  existence. 
This  you  have  done  in  spite  of  all  God's  enemies  and  yours.  In 
spite  of  all  the  diseases  ihat  do  or  can  prey  upon  you,  or  ?11  ihe 
enemies  visible  or  invis'ble  that  do  or  can  rise  up  against  you.  A 
huppy  immonality  is  the  highest  perfection  of  hunjan  nature.  An 
unhippy  immortality  is  the  deepest  impeifecaon.  ImmciUaU'y  in 
God  himselt,  unblessed  would  not  be  a  p^rfecticn.  Let  this  then, 
be  to  you  the  sum  of  all  consolation,  and  emirely  resign  you  to 
whatever  may  be  before  you,  ^ood  or  bad  health,  life  or  death,  that 
you  are  a  plant  of  immort  1  growth,  and  thouah  yon  but  yester- 
day sprjiug  up  on  earthly  soil,  and  might  grow  in  this  soil  a  num- 
ber of  years  longer,  and  it  may  be  have  some  strong  desires  to  do 
so, yet  there  is  another  and  better,"even  a  heavenly" soil  ipto  which 
whf.n  you  are  rem*>ved,  sooner  or  bier,  you  w'ill  be  tr;msplanted,an^ 
fltuu'ish,  and  flourish  with  a  ])e?veti]y  vigorous  and  immortal  grow'.h. 
A  sr^owth  which  c^nfiot  be  interrupted  or  blasted.  What  matter 
then  if  yo.i  should  b*-:  ronjoved  even  in  yonr  youth,  in  the  very 
morning  of  your  days?  You  may  be  taken  from  many  and  great 
evils  on  the  earth,  and  as  y^»u  hyve  m?de  sure  of  a  happy  immor- 
tality, would  certniidy  enter  into  the  world  of  the  blessed.  If  «:o, 
you  would  nf  ver  know  what  old  age  and  decrepitude  aie.  You 
would  be  taken  fiom  them  on  earth,  and  with  the  rest  in  heaven 
w^uld  always  be  young,  and  bloom,  and  bh)om  in  perpetual  youth. 
Taken  awr.y  in  the  bloom  on  earth,  to  the  more  beautifid,ond  glo- 
rious and  everlr-siing  bloom  of  heaven.  And  now  my  dear  yonng 
Comp*:nion  in  afflic'inn,  in  this  vale  of  tears,  fiir  sister  or  dear 
brot-er,  whatever  be  the  severity,  the  duration,  or  termination  of 
your  disease,  may  it  be  your  lipppy  lot  to  get  there  at  las-,  and  in- 
to the  hands  of  our  merciful  God  I  now  resign  you. — Farewell. 

October  31st,  1829. 

FOR  THE  POOR,  IN  AFFLICTION. 

There  are  different  kin^ls  and  various  dciirees  of  poverty. 
There  is  uiora!  poverty  and  th(U'e  is  natural  p.-verty,  and  bo'h  i 
have  rheir  m-'derate  and  extreme  de^nees.  The  poor  for  whotn 
I  wrir ',  are  those  who  labor  under  thai,  kind  of  poverty  which 
consists  in  th  ur  '  ciiig  desiiiute,  in  a  greater, or  less  degree,  of 
the  actual  comforts  ^f  life,  land  and  r..inient  and  a  «heiter  fr'  m 
the  storm.     Many  are  of  this  class,  perhaps  a  majority  of  the 


THE  AFFLICTBB.  125 

human  race.  According  to  my  general  plan,  it  is  not  my  pur- 
pose to  inquire  into  the  causes  of  their  poverty.  My  business 
is  not  to  account  for  the  miseries  of  man,  but  to  do  what  I  can 
to  alleviate  them.  A  passing  remark  or  two,  however,  1  will 
make  on  the  subject. 

Some  are  naturally  destitute  of  talents  or  abilities  to  con- 
trive. Others  are,  by  nature  indolent,  or  in  more  familiar  lan- 
guage, lazv.  Some  are  shackled  and  surrounded  by  circum- 
stances which  they  are  utterly  unable  to  break  through  or  sur- 
mount. The  English  nation  and  other  monarchies  give  us  ex- 
amples of  the-^e,  and  they  are  also  not  wanting  among  our- 
selves. Others  are  brought  to  poverty  by  their  vices  and 
crimes. 

I  am  far  from  entertaining  the  presumption  that  my  little 
hook  will  pass  over  to  the  transatlantic  countries.  I  write  for 
the  Aiiierican  continent;  and  specially  for  the  United  States  of 
America;  and  shall  be  more  happy  and  more  gratefal  than  my 
tonfue  or  mv  pen  can  express,  if  I  am  enabled  to  make  it  use- 
ful even  to  a  few  of  the  sons  and  Jaughlers  of  affliction  in  my 
own  country.  Therefore  I  j^hall  not  attempt  to  shape  it  to  suit 
the  condition  of  those  of  f>riegn  lands,  who  groan  under  still 
more  dreadful  degrees  of  poverty  than  are  presented  to  our  view 
around  us.  I.jdeed  o\ir  own  beloved  country,  of  most  happy 
government,  vast  extent,  great  salubrity  of  clime,  and  inex- 
haustible fertility  of  soil,  even  ^^flowiog  with  milk  and  honey," 
contains  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  those  who  present 
degrees  of  poverty  deep  and  dreadful  enou;^h  to  awake  and  em- 
ploy all  the  energies  of  all  ifs  philanthropists.  Poverty  alone 
is  a<listressing  calamity.  But  when  disease  is  added  to  it,  the  ca- 
lamity is  more  than  doubled.  And  this,  my  dear  friend,  is  your 
unhappy  condition;  pinched  by  the  Ci)ld  and  cruel  hand  of  pov» 
erty.  and  pained,  and  tortured,  and  weakened,  and  prostrated  by 
diseyse. 

Whatever  be  the  cause  of  your  poverty  you  need  consolation. 
If  it  is  manifesily  your  own  fault,  you  need  it  more,  but  are  not 
so  deserving  v)f  it.  Be  iha»  as  it  may,  I  shill  proceed  to  give 
y^>u  ait  I  can  through  the  means  of  pen,  ink  and  paper. 

In  your  afflictions  your  grand  peculiarity  is,  that  you  are 
p;>(>r.  Previous  to  this  you  havy  been  struggling  along,  often- 
tiines  des'itute  of  even  c-jarse  f ;  >d  to  nourish  your  body ;  of  rai- 
ment suihcient  to  defend  you  from  the  inclesnencies  of  the  sea- 
sons, and  it  may  be,  even  to  cover  your  nukedness;  and  without 
a  sihelter  good  enough  to  turn  off  the  fl jwing  rain,  the  driving 
wind  and  the  piercing  cold.  This  no  doubt  you  thought  to  be 
enough  of  the  woes  of  time,  but  now  a  disease  eiiiier  more  or 

11 


126  CONSOLATIONS   OF 

less  violent,  as  the  case  may  be,  has  seized  upon  your  unhappy 
body.  Deep  and  desperate  as  your  condition  is,  my  fellow  suf- 
ferer, you  are  not  to  suppose  that  there  are  no  con-olations  for 
you.  There  may  be  not  only  a  few  but  many.  It  is  true  the 
world  is  often  called  an  unfriendly  world,  and  perhaps  with 
too  much  justness;  but  at  the  same  time  it  is  ndt  right  to  slan- 
der it.  It  is  the  business  of  every  person  to  be  his  own  friend, 
in  every  possible  honest  way,  and  in  whatever  condition  he  may 
be.  And  to  all  such,  so  far  as  my  observation  and  knowledge 
extend,  the  people  of  our  nation  are  disposed  to  be  friendly. 
Many  of  the  poor,  may,  without  design,  be  overlooked,  and 
some  may  be  unnoticed  on  account  of  their  backwardness  to 
make  known  their  condition.  The  great  cause  why  any  are 
neglected  is  the  impositions  that  are  practised  upon  the  benevo- 
lent and  charitable  by  undeserving  and  vicious  characters.  It 
has  always  been  true  among  all  nations,  and  will  most  likely 
ever  continue  so,  that  the  best  way  to  help  the  poor  is  to  teach 
and  encourage  them  to  help  themselves,  so  long  as  they  have 
health  and  strength  to  do  it;  and  when  these  fail,  to  give  them 
the  things  they  need  •  But  even  when  health  and  strength  are 
gone,  they  should  exhibit  a  rftA^osiVtow  to  help  themselves  if  they 
could.  The  maxim — ''first  help  yourself  and  then  I'll  help 
you,"  is  one  of  the  best  of  maxims  and  will  never  wear  out. 
And  if  it  were  ever  correct  and  sound,  since  the  world  began, 
it  is  truly  so  in  the  United  States  of  America  You  may  con- 
clude from  the  drift  of  my  observations,  my  friend,  that  my  con- 
solations to  you  will  be  lean  and  empty,  and  like  Job's  comfort- 
ers were  to  him.  Be  not  mistaken,  I  think  1  have  the  best  that 
the  world  affords. 

The  first  that  I  shall  offer  you,  is,  notwithstanding  you  are 
sick  and  diseased,  to  do  and  contrive  every  thing  in  every  pos- 
sible honest  way,  to  get  along  without  the  help  of  others.  And 
when  you  can  do  this  no  longer,  possess  and  manifest  a  strong 
disposition  to  do  it  if  you  could.  Let  all  around  you,  good  and 
bad  persons,  see  plainly  your  strong  determination  to  do  so. 
Spend  the  last  cent.  Sell  what  few  things^you  have,  to  buy 
those  which  you  cannot  live  without.  Do  not  beg  in  an  indi- 
rect manner  by  throwing  out  hints  to  those  who  are  rich  when 
they  come  in  your  way.  If,  of  their  own  accord,  they  give 
you  any  thing,  receive  it  with  becoming  expressions  of  thank- 
fulness and  respect.  At  the  sauie  time  show  them  by  your 
words  and  actions  that  it  is  your  firm  resolution  not  to  be  de- 
pendent on  others  till  you  are  absolutely  driven  to  it. 

Let  the  doctor  who  visits  you  and  witnessess  your  low,  and 
ddfilitute,  and  wretch(;d  condition,  see  this  disposition  in  you 


THE  AFFLICTED. 


12*? 


This  is  not  only  the  most  respectable  and  honorable  way  to 
beg,  but  the  aiost  eflectual.  When  the  doctor  and  all  your 
friends  thus  see  and  know  your  condition  and  disposition,  they 
will  feel  moved  for  you,  and  consider  you  worthy  of  attention. 
Not  only  so,  but  they  will  say  to  others  who  are  rich,  who  have 
the  good  things  of  this  world  in  their  possession, "do  you  know 
how  poor,  and  sick,  and  helpless,  and  wretched  such  a  person 
is?"  And  "we  can  assure  you  that  he  or  she  is  worthy.  He 
is  doing  every  thing  that  is  possible  to  hold  on  and  hold  out  and 
bear  up,  but  it  really  does  a[)pear  to  us  that  it  is  impossible 
for  him  to  do  it  much  longer."  '•H!jmanit\-'calls  loudly  for  us  to 
do  something  for  him."  If  you  do  as  1  have  directed  above, 
you  will  ni'St  likely  obtain  all  the  assistance  your  fellow  mor- 
tals can  give  you,  in  the  most  honorable  and  best  way.  One 
good  and  kind  neighbor  will  send  \  ou  some  delicate  food  suita- 
ble f-^r  the  si  -k.  Another  will  sufiply  you  with  the  necessary 
clothing.  A  third  will  see  that  you  are  properly  nursed  and 
kept  clean.  The  doctor,  or  some  fourth  person  will  provide 
what  medicine  >ou  need.  They  will  see  that  your  house  does 
not  leak  upon  you,  nor  admit  the  wind  and  cold,  and  they  will 
keep  it  properly  aired  and  properly  warmed.  Moreover,  they 
will  speak  comfortable  and  encouraging  words  to  you,  and 
cheer  and  stimulate  your  heart  as  much  as  they  can. 

All  these  things,  we  say  they  may  do,  but  it  is  pnssible  als* 
that  they  may  do  none  of  them.  If  they  do,  )  oir  consolations 
will  neither  be  few  nor  small.  If  they  do  nut.  I  feel  it  neces^ 
sary  to  advise  and  caution  you  still  fLirlhcr.  1  would  caution 
you  agains!  having  hard  feelings  towards  ihem.  There  may  be 
some  good  reason,  unknown  to  you,  why  they  act  as  they  do. 
Whether  there  is  or  not,  you  must  remember,  with  a^ll  humility, 
that  all  the  claims  you  have,  are  the  claims  of  suffering  hu- 
manity; and  it  is  with  them  to  choose  h*-w,  and  when;  and 
where  they  will  bestow  their  charities.  Again,  I  would  most 
seriously  caution  and  advise  you  to  be  strictly  honest.  When 
you  see  the  wealth  and  abundance  of  others  around  you,  and 
these  things  too  very  much  exposed  and  easy  to  be  taken  hold 
of  by  you,  resist  at  all  limes,  most  mightily,  every  temptation 
to  do  so,  even  in  the  slightest  way.  If  you  have  every  facility 
to  take  some  trifle  which  dos  not  seem  to  be  of  much  use  to  the 
owner,  and  to  conceal  the  taking  of  it  from  him,  "touch  not, 
taste  not,  handle  not." 

When  you  beg,  beg  right  out,  openly  and  aboveboard.  And 
when  you  can  no  longer  get  along  without  doing  it,  it  will  be 
honorable  to  do  so.  It  will  l>e  your  duty.  From  the  advice  I 
il^ve  given  to  shun  U  le  the  last  extremity,  you  must  not  eirby 


!28  «ows6lations  ^P 

attempting  to  shun  it  too  long.  It  is  possible  for  you  to  posses^^ 
too  much  independence  of  mind.  If  you  carry  his  to  an  un- 
warrantable degree,  it  will  be  an  improper  and  uojustifiinble 
kind  of  pride.  Pride  and  poverty  are  two  of  the  nu  st  dread- 
ful evils  that  can  happen  to  man.  If  you  were  originally  a 
person  of  independent  leeiings,  or  if  you  were  once  wealthy, 
or  even,  as  we  say  in  common  language,  well  off,  you  will  be 
very  liable  to  have  this  bad  kind  of  pride.  The  trial  will  be 
exceedingly  great,  to  be  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  begging 
your  bread.  So  great  that  you  will  be  apt  to  suffer  longer  and 
more  than  you  ought  to  suffer,  before  you  will  humbly  ask  your 
fellow  mortals  for  help.  You  may  even  endanger  your  life  by 
doing  without  the  things  which  are  actually  indispensable  to 
support  life,  and  the  want  of  them,  and  the  proper  medicince 
and  medical  advice, may  render  your  disease  mcurable,  though 
your  life  may  not  be  brought  to  an  immediate  end.  Therefore 
1,  as  one  of  your  warmest  and  best  friends,  would  most  ear- 
nestly beg  you  to  beg  before  you  come  to  that  point.  It  is  fit 
and  proper  to  endure  very  considerable  privations  with  the  hope 
of  getting  along  and  getting  through,  but  not  to  such  an  extent 
as  greatly  to  endanger  your  bodily  health,  or  put  your  life  in 
jeopardy. 

If  it  should  be  your  lot  to  bo  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  beg- 
ging, go  first  to  your  relations  who  are  able,  if  you  have  any  in 
reach.  In  them  God  bus  placed,  by  nature,  an  asylum 
for  the  poor,  who  are  bone  of  their  bone  and  flesh  of  their  flesh. 
This  asylum  was  in  their  breasts  by  nature,  and  is  still  there, 
if  neither  they  nor  you  have,  by  improper  conduct  between 
you,  broken  it  down.  The  walls  .  and  strength,  and  excellence 
of  this  asylum  consisted  in  their  and  your  natural  and  mutual 
afiections;  your  love  for  one  another.  If  neither  they  nor  you 
jarred,  or  lulled,  or  deadened  the^^e  affections,  they  constitute 
nature'*  poor-house,  and  heis  is  the  best.  As  we  have  said,  if 
there  is  such  a  poor  hov^se  within  yt^ur  reach,  by  all  means 
make  your  way  to  it.  Go,  or  be  taken  to  your  relations  who 
have  something  in  their  hands,  or  get  them  to  come  to  you.  If 
the  understanding  between  you  is  g«)od,  tbey  will  remember 
the  words  which  say-  *-E\'ecute  true  judgment,  and  show  mer- 
cy and  compassion  every  man  to  his  brother,"  and  they  will  do 
so.  But  if  it  is  not  good,  you  will  do  well  to  remember,  that 
'*a  brother  offended  is  harder  to  be  won  than  a  strong  city  ;  and 
their  contenlions  are  like  the  bars  of  a  castle."  In  this  case 
you  may  find  it  to  be  true,  "(hat  there  is  a  friend  that  stickeih 
closer  than  a  brother."  And  you  will  ssee  and  feel  the  propriety 
df  the  advice  givea  in  another  place,  where  it  is  Sdid,  "Thint 


THE  AFFLICTED.  12^ 

owTi  fHend,  and  thy  father's  friend  forsake  not;  neither  go  into 
thv  brother's  house  in  the  day  of  thy  calamity;  for  better  is  a 
neighbor  that  is  near  than  a  brother  far  off."  If  j'ou  have  such 
a  neighbor,  who  is  your  friend,  or  your  father's  friend,  he  is 
your  next  refuge ;  to  him  1  would  advise  you  next  to  apply. 
Should  you  fail  in  this  application,  Lknow  of  no  other  course 
for  you  than  to  fall  away  upon  the  mercies  of  the  community 
at  large,  to  come  upon  the  town,  and  yield  up  yourself  to  be 
treated  and  taken  care  of  in  whatever  way  they  may  find  them- 
selves able  and  feel  themselves  disposed  to  do  it.  How  un- 
speakably thankful,  my  friends,  should  jou  and  I  be.  that  our 
fellow  men  are  disposed  to  help,  in  any  way  whatever,  those 
who  are  in  deep  adversity  And  that  in  our  beloved  America, 
it  is  not  every  body's  business  and  thus  nobody's  business,  but 
a  matter  of  official  concern.  T\at  moneys  are  raised  by  taxa- 
tion upon  those  who  have  the  comforts  of  life  in  their  hands, 
which  moneys  are  to  be  spent  for  the  relief  of  the  poor  and  help- 
less. That  these  provisions  are  generally  made  and  mak- 
ing in  the  country,  by  townships  and  counties,  and  that  in  our 
cities  there  are  large  and  suitable  poor  houses.  And  in  both 
country  and  town,  that  there  are  officers  appointed  whose  duty 
it  is  to  fly  to  the  crying  necessities  of  suffering  and  languish- 
ing humanity.  AH  the  forementioned  resources  having  failed, 
you  must  make  known  your  condition  to  tbem.  Ic  is  in  their 
power  to  help  you  where  you  are,  if  they  think  best.  Or  they 
may  remove  you  to  some  private  house,  or  lastly  take  you  to 
the  public  poor-house.  If  you  have  a  choice  you  must  men- 
tion it  very  modestly,  remembejing  that  ^'beggars  should  not 
be  choosers."  In  either  case,  wherever  you  may  be  kept,  at 
home,  at  some  private  house,  or  in  the  public  poor-house,I  would 
most  warmly  recommend  it  to  you  to  be  very  mild  and  kind  to 
those  into  whose  hands  you  fall.  Endeavor,  by  every  proper 
and  laudable  method,  to  gain  the  affections  and  sympathies  and 
tender  treatment  of  those  who  are  appointed  to  attend  upon 
you. .  Be  very  prudent  lest  you  ( ffend  them.  And  if  you  should 
find  their  treatment  to  be  so  rough  and  unkind,  as  to  be  intol- 
erable, plead  your  cause  with  tears  in  your  eyes  first  with 
them,  and  if  they  do  not  hear  you,  then  with  the  proper  officers. 
Let  every  word  you  speak  be  the  truth,  and  beg  with  an  honegt 
heart,  that  they  will  have  you  faithfully  and  tenderly  nursed 
(if  you  are  so.  low  as  to  be  unable  to  nurse  yourself,)  and  that 
th»'y  will  keep  you  clean.  But  1  wish  you  distinctly  to  remem- 
ber, that  this  great  and  important  business  of  keeping  clean, 
lies  first  and  mainly  with  yourself.  Had.  5'ou  a  home  of  your 
•\*B,  and  that  full  of  the  comforts  of  life,  and  were  you  une  tf 

11* 


HS^  C'dNSOLATIONb  eP 

the  richest  of  the  rich,  and  attended  not  merely  by  one, but  hy 
a  number  of  the  denrest,  tenderest  and  most  affectionate  rela- 
tives, they  could  not  keep  ^ou  clean  without  your  efforts  to  keep 
yourself  so. 

A  person  whose  body  is  diseased  to  any  great  extent,  una- 
voidably sends  forth  a  morbid,  loathsome  scent.  This  is  bad 
enough  when  every  thing  is  done  in  the  mosi  prompt  and  con- 
stant manner  to  remove  it,  by  proper  airing  and  changing  of 
clothes,  but  it  is  unspeakably  worse  where  every  species  of  filth 
is  suffered  by  himself  and  others,  to  remain  about  him.  It  can 
but  increase  the  disease.  From  this  you  will  see  that  it  will 
be  necessary  fcr  you  to  be  very  cautious  when  you  are  about 
to  complain  of  others,  that  the  blame  is  not  mostly,  if  not  en- 
tirely your  own.  If  you  are,  however,  upon  good  grounds^ 
persuaded  that  in  these  great  matters  of  nursing,  giving  medi- 
cine and  keeping  clean,  the  fault  belongs  to  the  nurses  and 
other  officers,  and  they  all  refuse  to  hear  your  intreaties  for 
better  attention,  the  doctors  are  that  class  of  men  to  whom  yoa 
will,  in  the  next  place,  most  easily  have  access,  and  whose  bu- 
iiness  it  is  to  listen  to  your  tale  of  wo,  and  interfere  on  your 
behalf.  But  should  even  these  appear  cruel,  and  refuse  to  do 
or  say  any  thing  for  you,  the  clergy  are  the  next  class,  whose 
proper  business  it  is  to  visit  the  poor  and  the  sick,  and  to  com- 
fort them  both  in  word  and  jdeed.  To  them  you  may  impartial-' 
fy  expose  your  condition.  From  some,  or  all  of  these  different 
characters  you  may  expect  consolation.  If  it  be  your  lot  to  be 
taken  to  the  public  poor  house,  this  is  the  place  to  which  other* 
who  are  poor  and  sick  are  also  taken.  And  for  convenience 
in  nursing,  the  sick  are  sometimes  placed  in  the  same  room» 
This  may  be  the  case  with  you;  and  if  so,  you  will  have  not 
duly  your  own  filth  to  contend  with,  but  that  of  others.  This 
will  indeed  be  a  sore  trial;  and  one  of  the  sorest,  if  you  have 
been  a  person  raised  in  the  more  decent  wa\ ,  and  do  possess- 
something  of  a  correct  and  delicate  taste.  Should  \o  i  find 
yourself  lying  in  the  midst  of  those  as  bad,  and  many  of  them 
worse,  than  yourself,  and  withal  not  disposed  to  keep  clean, 
you  will  need  a  great  degree  of  patience;  and  it  will  be  of  no 
small  use  to  you  to  possess  a  great  degree  of  prudence,  and  to 
have  both  in  constant  exercise.  Tell  them,  calmly  and  delib- 
erately, the  bad  elfucts  and  consequences  of  their  negligence. 
And  persuade  them  most  earnestly,  with  a  warm  heart,  with 
the  heart  of  a  fellow  sufferer  with  themselves,  if  they  have  any 
reirard  whatever,  to  their  own  welfare  and  to  that  of  f  h  »se  around 
them,  to  exert  all  the  remaining  powers  which  the\  have,  to  be 
patient,  and  miidj  and  to  keep  clean.    A  word  Irom  you,  or 


THE  AFPLICTBD.  iSl 

ffom  some  other  inmate  and  fellow  sufferer,  will  have  more 
weight  than  from  any  other  source.  If  one  of  you  be  not  heard, 
let  as  many  of  you  as  can,  join  to  plead  and  persuade,  and 
your  united  efforts  will  likely  have  more  ir.flaence  than  the 
combined  exertions  of  the  keeper  of  the  house,  the  trustees  or 
officers,  the  doctors  and  the  clergy. 

It  is  your  incumbent  duty  to  do  what  you  can  to  instruct,  and 
counsel,  and  encourage,  and  comfort  your  fellow  sufferers 
around  you.  And  they  should  do  the  same  for  you  You  suf- 
fer together,  and  it  may  be,  that  you  may  be  called  to  die,  the 
one  by  the  <ide  of  the  other.  There  is  every  reason  why  you 
should  be  specially  kind  to  one  ano.'her.  Vou  should  converse 
often  together  about  this  world  and  the  next,  and  very  particu- 
larly concerning  the  way  to  be  happy  in  the  world  to  come, 
seeing  you  are  miserable  here.  If  you  are  too  ignorant  to  ixi- 
struct  one  another  on  the  most  important  of  all  points,  you 
may  ask  for  some  good  minister  to  be  sent  to  see  you.  You 
may  be  too  bad  and  wicked  to  be  disposed  to  pray,  but  vou 
cannot  be  too  ignorant  to  do  it  if  you  are  disposed,  and  it  ie 
the  duty  of  all  persons  to  pray  for  pardtm.  and  help,  and  salva- 
tion, and  of  all,  who  is  more  needy  than  you?  Therefore  1  say 
converse  together,  read  to  and  f  )r  one  another.  If  one  cannot 
read  let  him  listen  to  another  that  can.  Read  good  books  and 
especially  the  Bible.  And  prny  often  together  in  the  manner 
in  which  a  pious  family  worships,  if  you  have  bodily  Ptren«j^tb 
enough  to  do  so  If  nor,  pray  in  your  own  heart.  Pray 
without  ceasing  Pray  alwa\s,  with  all  manner  of  prayer  and 
supplication,  li^  you  do  so,  if  you  follow  these  my  general  di- 
rections, I  have  no  doubt  but  you  will  receive  more  or  less  coa 
aol-cition  m  each  of  th^m. 

Thus  my  friend,  my  poor  friend,  I  have  viewed  you  in  any 
and  all  of  the  difftMent  situations  in  v  liich  you  will  most  likely 
be  in  your  poverty  and  atliictions,  and  spoken  a  word  or  two  of 
advice  and  consolation  to  you  in  each,  but  I  shall  not  close  tiil 
I  speak  one  or  two  more  to  you  on  thesulject. 

1  have  not  \et  refer; ed  you  to  the  tw«i  fir^t  parts  of  my  book, 
neither  can  I.  till  I  start  the  greatest  of  .11  questifms,  whether 
yoij  are,  or  not,  i;i  your  poverty  und  afliictions,  a  christian. 
They  were  written  f  »r  f  hjistians,  and  a  large  part  of  those 
consolations  theie  brought  to  view,  came  from  s«  urces  fV<,m 
whii  h  none. but  the  rhristia:)  can  draw  them.  Therefore,  if 
you  are  not  a  chjisi^m  and  do  nc»t  become  ..ne,  h-iwevX'r  ujuch 
tli'-'\  may  consoie  chnstian^,  ihey  «,umiot  console  \ou.  j\ot  a 
chiis^iaiil  can  it  be?  j.nti  in  :his  chris)i  m  land  tot-l  This  lanci 
iavored  above   ail   iiiud&.     A  iaiid  of  lijjht,  aiid  liourty,  acd 


18*  CONSOLATIONS  OP 

plenty;  of  knowledge,  of  morality,  and  piety.  Not  a  christianl 
and  in  the  h  jmble  and  humbling  state  of  poverty,  and  besides 
laboring  under  heart-sol tening  and  heart-melting  bodily  pains 
and  sorrows! 

Is  it  true  that  a  state  of  poverty  and  afRicHon  has  always 
been  the  best  to  cause  persons  to  think  of  God  in  a  practical 
manner — to  make  them  feel,  and  most  deeply  too,  their  depen- 
dence on  him  and  their  great  un  worthiness  in  his  sight;  to  melt 
their  hearts  with  genuine  godly' sorrow  for  all  their  offences 
against  him;  and  to  engage  their  whole  selves,  bndy  and  soul, 
in  devotion  to  him,  and  in  his  service?  Is  it  true,  that  the  poor 
^•f  this  world  who  have  no  treasure  here,  have  always  been 
most  easily  induced  to  lay  up  treasures  iu  Hr-aven?  And  you 
are  poor  and  afflicted,  but  do  not  think  of  God  m  a  practical 
manner,  do  not  feel  your  dependence  on  him  and  your  unwor- 
thiness  in  his  sight,  your  heart  is  not  melted  with  sorrow  for 
your  offences  against  him,  you  are  not  at  all  engaged  in  devo- 
tion to  him  or  in  his  service,  you  are  very  poor,  you  huve  n^ 
treasure  here,  and  yet  are  not  induced  to  lay  up  "treasures  in 
Heaven,  where  neither  moth  nor  rust  doth  corrupt  nor  thieves 
break  through  and  steal." 

Is  it  true  that  some  of  the  most  eminent  ancient  believers 
**vvandered  about  m  sheep  skins  and  goat  skins:  beiug  desti- 
tute, afflicted,  tormented,  (of  whom  the  world  was  not  worthy  :") 
©n  account  of  their  faith  and  the  excellence  of  their  characters? 
And  you  have  not  so  much  as  a  sheep  skin  or  a  goat  skm  to 
cover  you,  and  have  no  faith!  Are  weak  and  feeble,  have  not 
strength  enough  to  wander  "about  in  deserts  and  in  mountains, 
and  in  dens  and  caves  of  the  earth,"  to  seek  a  shelter,  an  earth- 
ly home,  and  yet  do  not  turn  your  thoughts  to  seek  a  better 
home  in  the  Heavens!  Is  it  true  that  the  Saviour  himself 
was  poor,  that  *'ihe  ioxe^  had  holes,  and  the  birds  of  the  air  had 
nests;  but  the  son  of  man  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head?" 
And  is  it  also  true,  that  "though  he  rvas  rich,  yet  for  your  sake 
he  became  poor,  that  you  throu;ih  his  poverty  might  he  rich?" 
And  you,  destitute  of  earthly  riches,  do  not  partake  of  his 
heavenly  riches,  which  he  procured  at  such  a  cost  to  himself, 
and  so  freely  ofiers  to  you  a  poor  sinner  indeed!  Again,  is  it 
true  that  he  chose  the  poor,  even  the  fishermen  of  Galilee,  to 
be  his  disciples  and  followers?  Did  he  mingle  with,  and  teach 
the  poorest  orders  of  men,  even  publicans  and  sinners,  ^o  that  as 
a  clear  and  decisive  proot  that  he  was  he  that  should  c(»me.  he 
sent  word  to  J(;hn  the  baptist,  saying,  "and  the  poor  have  the 
g(»!spel  preachevl  to  them?"  Alt  this  for  the  poor,  the  gospel 
IJf edched  lo  them,  the  gospel  preached  to  you,  one  ot  the  pour^^st 


THE    AFFLICTED.  189 

©f  the  poor,  and  you  do  not  hear  it.  you  disregnrd  its  "good  ti- 
dings of  great  joy !"  Tidiufs  v»h  h  tell  of  a  far  country 
where  there  are  no  poor.  Where  nil  are  ricii.  and  rich  «.viih 
precious  and  imperishable  riches.  You,  poor  as  a  skeleton,  a 
very  beggar,  and  do  not  desire  to  receive  the*ne\vs  concerning 
these  riches,  and  to  accept  a  partt»f  them  <)  my  dear  friend! 
is  it  true  ''that  not  many  wise  men  after  the  fltish,  not  ninnv 
mighty,  not  many  noble,  are  called,"  and  do  become  christians? 
not  many  of  the  rich  and  great — not  many  of  the  kings  and 
princes  of  the  earth,  the  great  generals,  and  mighty  warriors 
and  noble  iiues,  '"but  God  has  cho^•en  the  poor  of  this  world, 
rich  in  faith,  and  heirs  of  thj  kingdom  which  he  has  promised 
to  (hem  that  love  him,"  and  vou  are  0)ie  of  the  poor  of  the 
world,  and  not  rich  in  fai  h  nor  an  heir  of  the  kingdom?  AU  s! 
alas',  if  this  is  your  condition  how  lamentable  and  -uuhapp}  ! 
rich  in  nothing,  altogether  po or.  So  sunk  in  poverty,  that 
were  it  not  for  the  charities  and  kindness  of  your  tellow  men, 
you  would  be  exposed  to  the  howli.ig^  winds,  chilling  frost  and 
ab&iliue  starvation,  and  withal  brought  low  with  disease, — 
There  is  every  reason  why  you  should  expect  to  die  ere  long. 
To  die!  and  not  rich  in  faith  nor  an  heir  of  the  kingdom  which 
Gjd  has  promised  to  them  that  love  him!  Your  soul  not  bora 
asjainl  Not  renewed  nor  adorned  by  the  graces  of  God^s  spiritt 
You  not  a  new  creature!  The  image  of  God  not  restored  upon 
your  soul;  possessing  non3  of  the  riches  of  faith,  and  being  in 
no  wise  entitled  to  be  an  heir  of  the  kingdom  of  glory  which  is 
beyond  d^viih! 

You  no  doubt  have  often  rer^d,  or  heard  the  story,  that  ''there 
was  a  certain  rich  man,  which  was  clothed  in  purple  and  tine 
linen,  and  fared  sumptuousi}  every  day  :  and  there  was  a  cer- 
tain beggar  named  Lazarts,  which  was  laid  at  his  gate,  full  of 
sores,  and  desiring  to  be  fed  with  the  crumbs  which  fell  from 
the  rich  man's  table;  moreover  the  dogs  came  and  licked  his 
sores.  And  it  came  to  pass  that  the  beggar  died,  and  was  car- 
ried by  the  angels  into  Abraham's  bosom:  the  rich  man  also 
died  and  was  buried;  and  in  hell  he  lifted  up  his  e\es,  being  in 
torments."  Take  no- ice,  it  is  not  said  of  (he  beggar  that  he 
dieAl  and  in  hell  he  titled  up  his  eyes,  being  in  torments.  This 
is  said  of  the  rich  man,  but  it  may  be  true  also  of  a  beggar. 
He  may  die,  and  in  hell  he  may  lift  up  his  eyes,  being  in  tor- 
ments. This  however,  as  we  hive  said,  is  not  so  common. 
The  poor  have  the  gospel  pieaciievi  to  them,  and  generally  they 
hear  it,  and  believe  it,  and  obey  it^^  and  angels  hover  round 
th'-m,  and  when  they  die  carry  them  into  A'.'rahim's  b<;9  m. 
But  you  «eem  to  oe  aa  exception,     Y«>u  aeither  he«ir,  belkv'^ 


134  CONSOLATIONS    6V 

fior  obey  the  gospel,  are  a  be^orar,  destitute  of  even  criimbs, 
and  at  the  point  of  death.  O!  O!  my  dear  afflicted,  wretched 
fellow  mortal,  what  thoughts,  what  feelings  do  you,  can  you 
have,  about  dying  in  this  condition?  Wretched  here,  and  to 
be  wretched  in  »he  world  to  come.  Going  from  this  deep  pov- 
erty and  these  dreadful  calamities  and  woes  into  the  place  of 
torments,  where  they  "weep,  and  wail,  and  gnash  their  teeth." 
And  this  you  will  certainly  do,  if  you  have  no  treasure  in  Heav- 
en, are  not  rich  in  faith  and  an  heir  of  the  kingdom.  If  you  have 
a  few  years  or  months  or  even  days  yet  allowed  you,  between 
this  and  death,  cry,  O  cry,  with  the  dying  thief,  'unto  Josus, 
Lord  remember  me,  now  thou  bust  come  into  thy  kingdom.^ 
And  as  you  cry  and  continue  to  cry,  and  beg  and  intreat  th  it 
he  would  remember  you,  be  you  careful  to  Gear  in  mind,  that 
he  did  remember  ;he  dying  thief,  "and  say  unto  him,  verily,  I 
«ay  unto  thee,  to-day  shalt  thou  be  with  me  in  Paradise.^'  And 
that  he  heard  the  cry  of  every  one  that  called  upo.i  him,  poor 
widows,  poor  cripple*,  poor  blind  men,  and  all  the  sons  of  misery, 
and  turned  away  none,  not  a  single  individual.  He  wrought 
miracles  after  miracles  to  cure  their  bodies,  and  to  cure  their 
souls,  he  forgave  iheir  sms  arid  spoke  peace  unto  them.  He 
^'rememl'ered  them  in  their  low  estate."  He  remembered  the 
poor.  As  then  so  now  ''he  delivereth  the  poor  in  his  afflicli  n." 
"The  needy  shall  not  always  be  forgotten,  th  ex['ertnti>.n  of  the 
poor  shall  not  perish  forever."  "The  L.>rd  heareth  the  poor." 
"He  will  regard  the  prayer  of  the  destitute,  and  not  despise 
th^ir  f>raver."  **H3  setteih  the  poor  on  high  from  affliction." 
*'He  shall  spare  ihp  poor  and  needy,  and  shall  save  the  s  iuIj*  of 
th-!  needy."  All  these  important,  and  weigh-y,  and  rich,  and 
precious  truths  call  to  mind,  and  let  them  siuK  down  into  your 
mind  with  all  their  weight.  Believe  them  with  your  whole 
•o  jl.  Believe  in  him  "who  though  he  was  rich,  yet  f jr  your 
stkeho  became  poor,  that  you  through  his  poverty  mijht  b« 
rich  "  And  then  you  can  apply  the  two  first  parts  of  mv  b  >ok 
to  yourself.  And  then  too,  your  spirit  will  be  rich,  '*rich  in 
fiirh  and  an  heir  of  the  kingdom  "  Rich,  even  if  your  body 
fchould  starve  to  death,  or  be  wasted  by  consumption.  4>r  putreft- 
e.l  with  sores  and  should  rot  and  fall  frum  your  spirit.  H  w- 
in^T  Ibis  preci  )us  fii<h,  and  ih^t  holy  hope  whi  h  is  the  au.'hor 
of  the  christian''s  soul,  it  is  nj  mntter  what  becomas  of  your 
body.  It  matters  not  w*  ether  even  the  dogs  come  to  lick  your 
8  )res.  If  you  do  thus  believe,  and  your  spirit  is  th  is  rich,  and 
you  are  even  now  called  upon  to  die;  for  your  consolation,  your 
final  consolation  here  below,  I  hive  only  to  p  >int  you  to  .he 
^ggar  Lazarus.     As  was  his  happy  departure  s^  will  yours  ber 


IWB  AtTLICTB».  185 

Kind  guar<^ian  angels  will  wait  and  wat'.h  around  you,  tilj 
your  spini,  already  rich  with  spiritual  heavenly  ri(  hes,  shall 
leap  :)ut  of  its  cla)  tabernacle;  then  they  will  carry  it  to  Alira- 
hanrs  bosom,  to  the  world  where  all  is  consolation.  Where 
consolations  grow  on  every  twig,  float  upon  ail  the  waters,  are 
wafted  by  every  breeze,  spoken  by  every  tongue,  and  felt  to 
the  full  by  every  heart  Where  there  are  none  po<»r,  nor  sick, 
nor  disconsolate.  O  happy,  happy  change!  thrioe  happy!  un« 
speakaMy  happy!  Daar  son  or  daughter  of  poverty;  Gud  grant 
that  this  change  may  be  yours,  when  your  spirit  is  called  away 
from  your  weather-beaten,  way-worn,  frai),  decavingand  crum- 
bling body.  That  you  may  leave  all  your  poverty,  and  all 
your  woes  behind, — find  none  where  yot»  go,  and  eater  the 
world  which  is  full  of  consolation. 
ISov,  2  J.  St,  1829. 


FOR  THE  VICIOUS,  IN  AFFLICTION. 

The  vicious  are  those  who  indulge  in  vice,  who  commk 
wickedness,  who  do  not  restrain  their  bad  passions,  but  gratify 
them  at  the  expense  of  virtue,  goodness  and  happiness.  Wh« 
vitilate  the  wholesome  laws  of  Gcid  and  man.  O  thou  high 
and  holy  One!  ngbfeons  God!  God  of  the  righteous!  wh  ise 
providence  doth  afso  afflict  the  vicious,  be  gracious  now,  b« 
with  me  and  enable  me  to  speak  a  word  to  the  sons,  yea,  and 
to  ihe  daiighters  of  wickedness.  Supply  me  \vi(h  that  word, 
that  ii  may  i'e  a  word  of  wisdom,  and  efficncious  to  teach,  'O 
warn,  to  territy,  and  to  persuade,  to  sooth  and  to  comfort  the 
self  accusing  c<7n«cience,  the  guilty  eoul! 

I.'i  addressing  this  part  of  mankind,  I  am  well  aware  that, 
in  the  si^ht  of  God  '(here  is  none  righteous,  no,  not  one. 
There  is  none  that  doeth  good,  no,  not  one.  They  are  all  gone 
out  of  the  way.  For  ad  have  sinned,  and  come  short  of  ihc 
glory  of  God." 

C Lit  all  are  not  openly  vicious  and  immoral.  Neither  do  all 
commit  secret  sins  and  approve  of  th<':u  and  delight  in  theni 
continually.  There  are  a  part  of  mankind,  hiwever  small  th.rt 
part  may  be,  which  do  a  great  deal  more  in  restraining  their 
bad  passions,  in  withho  Jiiig  themselves  from  all  kinds  and 
species  of  vice,  and  wickedness,  and  evil,  thnn  another  part. 
And  this  lays  a  just  and  t:road  foundation  for  the  divisi(-n  of 
the  whjle  race  into  jwo  classes,  the  virions  and  the  vici-iis. 
I  entferlaia  no  doubt,  1  am  able  to  say,  I  kaow,  that  the  vicious 


.iS6  (CONSOLATIONS   OF 

is  far,  is  incomparably  the  larger  class.  Therefore,  should  1 
be  enabled  to  write  any  thing  really  useful,  1  may  be  useful  to 
much  the  larger  part  ot  mankind,  and  that  part  too  which  is 
much  the  more  needy. 

Tiie  vires  which  the  unhappy  sons  and  daughters  of  vice 
commit  and  indulge  in,  are  also  numerous  as  well  as  various. 
The  temptations  to  them  are  all  around,  and  at  every  step,  and 
within  thorn  there  are  strung  inclinations  and_  propensities  to 
give  way  and  yield  to  one,  or  many,  or  all  of  these  temptations. 
"Out  of  the  he;irt  proceed  evil  thoughts,  murders,  adulteries, 
f(trmcations,  thefts,  false  witness,  blasphemies.  These  are  the 
things  which  detile  a  man."  All  these  are  outward  acts,  ex- 
cept evil  ihoughts,  and  are  declared,  as  well  as  evil  thoughts, 
by  him  who  "-knew  what  was  in  man,"  and  could  not  err,  to 
proreed  out  of  the  heart.  The  infallible  Saviour,  who  had  all 
wisdom,  in  stating  to  the  scribes  and  pharisees,  to  the  multitude 
and  to  his  disciples,  the  things  which  defiie  a  man,  has  here 
given  us  a  summary  of  fhe  vices.  A  summary  of  all  these  in- 
ternal and  external  things  which  defiie  a  man,  which  constitute 
hi.n  a  vicious  character.  I  say  a  summary,  and  nothing  more. 
M^ny  things  may  be  omitted  in  a  sumaiary,  yes,  even  innu- 
merable particulars.  Internal  things  he  includes  under  tha 
head  of  evil  ihoughls.  Outot  evil  thoughts,  evil  desires  arise; 
all  kinds  and  species  of  evil  desires  fiom  the  least  to  the  great- 
est, from  the  first  to  the  last,  that  the  unhappy  sons  of  men, 
sons  and  jdaughters  of  vice  and  wickedness,  suffer  to  brood  in 
their  breasts,  and  to  destroy  their  own  peace,  and  to  break  out 
and  blast  their  own  reputation,  and  despoil  the  honor  and  de- 
stroy the  happiness  of  multitudes  around  them.  Under  this 
head  he  includes  every  unholy  and  unlawfui  carnal  feelniT;,  or 
feoiing  of  »'the  carnal  mind."  All  the  unhallowed  and  f;>roid- 
den  lusts  of  depraved  human  nature. 

Under  the  next  head,  in  which  h«  enumerates  a  f<^w  of  the 
most  prominent  and  atrocious,  and  tlaorrant.  and  heaven  daring 
vices,  out  of  the  thousands  he  includes  all  outward  acts  and 
words,  the  tendency,  and  eflfect  and  consequences  of  which,  are 
vicious  and  evil,  and  ruinous  to  -he  persons  wh  >  aro  the  authors 
of  them,  and  to  their  fellow  jnorfals  aroujid.  Every  single  act 
ahd  word  of  the  kind,  from  the  mo^t  trivial  deed  and  the  m  >st 
insragnilicant  idle  word  to  ihe  sheddiuof  of  die  blood  of  their 
fellow  men,  who  were  made  in  the  im a-TO  of  their  Creator,  and 
to  the  awful  blasphemy  of  this  sauie  •v,neat  Creator  of  all.  As 
we  have  hinted  above,  the  vi'-es  are  th-'usands  in  n.nn.«er.  To 
enamerate  them  all,  in  all  ihdir  ^haoos  a. id  form-;,  with  all  iheir 
miaous  bearings,  would  entirely  surpass  the  iiinits  and  design 


THiE  AFFLtCTEB.  13*/ 

of  my  present  undertakina.  In  different  nations^  difterent  vices 
prevail,  according  to  the  facilities  to  commit  ihem,  and  the  temp- 
tations to  them;  though  far  the  larger  part,  are  common  to  all  na> 
tiond,  especially  to  all  that  are  civilized.  Some  of  those  which 
pollute,  and  perturb  our  l-eloved  America,  which  distain  her  sons 
and  some  of  her  daufifhiers,  wliich  despoil  her  of  her  glory, — tear 
up  the  foundations  of  her  good  society,  nnd  rob  her  of  her  peace,  I 
will  now  mention,  observing  something  like  the  order  in  which  the 
sons  and  daughters  of  vice  generally  move  on  in  them. 

In  these  movements  their  most  common  course  is  from  less  to 
greater  ones;  and  the  most  common  time  of  life  to  commence 
the  course,  is  in  youtU^  though  there  are  ma  ny  exceptions.  They 
generally  begin  with  the  use  of  idle,  and  low,  and  obscene,  and 
profane  words.  If  they  are  not  born  associates  of  low  and  vicious 
companions,  the  use  of  such  words  very  naturally  lead  them  to 
associate  with  companions  of  this  order.  And  as  the  vices  have 
their  associates,  as  well  as  mankind,  and  are  linked  together  like 
a  chain,  they  proceed  on  from  the  use  of  foul  and  profane  words, 
to  every  species  of  falsehood  and  lying;  to  all  which  their  asso- 
ciates often  tempt  them.  And  when  they  gather  together  in  their 
associations,  the  next  step  is  to  drink,  perhaps  only  a  little  strong 
drink,  in  company,  to  cheer  each  other's  spirits.  Then  to  gamble 
for  a  few  hours.  At  the  next  meeting  they  drink  larger  draughts, 
and  gambl  more  extensively,  and  longer.  Thus  on  till  they 
drink  so  much  as  to  be  intoxicated,  (viz.)  drunk;  and  from  time  to 
time  drunker,  and  drunker,  till  they  become  confirmed  drunkards. 
This  vice  is  generally  allowed  to  be  the  most  extensively  practised, 
and  the  most  ruinous  and  fatal  of  all  others  that  prevail  in  Ameri- 
ca. Its  tendency,  if  it  be  not  checked,  is  not  only  to  all  kinds  of 
misery,  and  to  the  utter  ruin  of  thousands  and  millions  of  the 
bodies  and  souls  of  men,  but  to  unpeople  the  nation. 

I  forbear,  however,  to  make  any  further  remarks  on  it  in  this 
place,  and  will  pursue  the  vicious  some  further  in  their  course. 
From  the  tippling  shop,  or  grog  shop,  or  tavern,  or  coffee  house, 
which  are  also  too  commonly  gambling  houses;  they  next  find 
their  way,  under  covert  of  *hc  darkness  of  the  night,  to  **her 
house  whose  house  inclineth  unto  death,  and  her  paths  unto  the 
d<  ad.  Whose  house  is  the  way  to  hell,  going  down  to  the  cham- 
bers of  death."  I  mean  the  house  of  sexual  debauchery.  And 
here,  alas!  alas!  they  are  joined  in  their  course  of  vice  by  the 
other  sex,  the  female  sex,  the  fair  sex.  The  scenes  of  debauchery, 
and  lying,  and  riot,  and  stealing,  and  robbing  from  one  another, 
and  fishtmg,  and  stabbing,  and  mUrder,  which  take  place  at  such 
houses,  I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe.  Those  who  wish  to  con- 
ceive of  tbem  in  some  degree  according  to  the  extent  of  th^ir, 

12 


138  CONSOLATIONS  OP 

enormities  and  horrors,  may  think  of  them  as  places  at  which  all 
the  unhallowed,  violent  and  raging  passions  of  the  human  heart 
are  let  out.  At  which  there  is  no  aminhle  blush  of  chastity  and 
delicacy,  but  where  all  the  fires  of  corrupt  human  souls  are  kin- 
dled, and  flame  without  the  least  moral  restraint,  and  where  all 
the  dreadful,  and  filthy,  and  covetous,  and  vengeful  lusts  of  sordid 
human  bodies  meet,  with  no  check,  but  boil  up  and  overflow,  like 
the  boilings  and  overflowings  of  a  caldron  filled  with  corruption. 
Here  also  som.e  of  the  most  loathsome  and  fatal  diseases  are 
Caught,  and  the  unhappy  persons  who  catch  them,  sink  into  the 
deepest  degradation  and  misery.  When  confined  to  their  beds 
by  these  diseases  they  are  very  righteousb'  shunned  by  all  the  vir- 
tuous and  decent,  and  often  suftei  more  than  tongue  or  pen  can 
express.  Not  un frequently  it  becomes  the  very  unpleasant  duty 
of  the  overseers  of  the  poor  to  take  them  to  the  public  poor  house. 
Their  treatment  cannot  reasonably  be  expected  to  be  any  other 
than  that  which  is  rough  and  untender.  Who  that  is  virtuous  can 
have  a  heart  to  wait  on  such  objects  with  affection  and  tenderness? 
If  there  is  a  human  being  among  all  the  sons  and  daughters  of 
misery,  that  deserves  to  be  neglected  and  ill  treated,  such  a  char- 
acter does.  And  if,  in  this  condition,  they  repent  of  all  their 
wickedness,  those  who  have  the  care  of  them  do  not,  nor  can  tliey 
readily  believe  their  repentance  to  be  true  and  real.  At  the  same 
time  this  is' the  best  thing  they  can  do.  And  if  they  cannot  con- 
vince men  of  the  truth  and  reality  of  their  repentance,  God  will 
see  it  and  know  it  to  be  true,  and  will  have  mercy  on  them  if  men 
do  not. 

But  it  is  more  common  for  them  to  be  taken  by  the  constable  or 
sheriff  from  these  resorts  of  vice,  and  iniquity,and  crime,  to  the  dun- 
geon of  the  public  jail,  and  there  to  be  loaded  with  irons  and  "fed 
upon  the  bread  and  water  of  aflliction,"  until  the  day  of  their  trial,  in 
the  public  court  house,  before  the  appointed  judges  and  twelve  hon- 
est jurymen  of  their  country.  And  here,  in  the  presence  of  the  whole 
court  and  all  the  citizens  who  may  come  in  to  hear  the  account 
of  their  enormous  crimes,  ikey  are  generally  found  guilty  and 
condemned,  and  one  of  the  judge?  passes  the  solemn  sentence  of 
their  condemnation  upon  them.  They  are  found  guilty  and  con- 
demned and  sentenced  according  to  their  crimes,  some  to  the  pen- 
itentiary, the  hateful  prison  of  criminals,  to  labor  for  a  term  of 
years,  or  for  their  life  time,  shut  up  from  all  the  cheerful  wa>s  of 
men,  in  dreary  and  servile  and  toilsome  confinement.  Others  are 
sentenced  to  be  taken  back  to  the  jail  from  which  they  were  brought 
out,  and  there  to  be  kept  so  many  days  till  the  appointed  day  to 
be  hung,  and  then  to  be  brought  out  dressed  in  grave  clothes,  sur- 
rounded by  a  guard  of  armed  men,  placed  in  a  cart,  back  foremost. 


THE    APPLICTEP.  139 

with  a  rope  round  their  necks,  and  their  coffin  by  their  side,  and 
thus  to  be  driven  to  the  gallows  erected  in  a  conspicuous  place, 
and  there  in  the  presence  of  thousands  and  ten  thousands  of  their 
fellow  men  to  be  hung,  according  to  the  sentence  of  the  judge, 
"till  you  are  dead,  dead,  dead,  and  God  have  mercy  on  your  soul." 
This  is  the  career  very  frequently  run  by  the  vicious,  but  in  pursu- 
ing it,  the  richer  and  gayer,  generally  go  by  the  way  of  the  theatre. 
The  poorer  make  lying,  theft,  forgery,  robbery  and  murder,  their 
more  special  business.  This  however  is  far. froni  being  the  only 
course  in  which  the  vicious  are  to  be  found.  They  are  among 
all  classes  of  mankind.  And  they  generally  strive  to  conceal  their 
vices.  In  this  strife  many  are  successful,  and  though  they  prac- 
tice some  of  the  most  dreadful,  yet  escape  the  eyes  of  mankind, 
and  pass  among  men  for  virtuous,  decent  and  worthy  charac- 
ters. Not  only  so,  but  there  are  many  vices  and  these  too  very 
much  practiced,  which  though  they  can  be  discovered  and  well 
known,  yet  are  excepdingly  difficult,  if  not  impossible  to  be  seiz- 
ed nnd  punished  by  the  arm  of  human  law.  From  these  causes, 
together  with  the  strong  propensities  of  mankind  to  evil,  those  are 
very  numerous  who  practice  vice  at  their  own  homes,  in  the  pri- 
vate family  circle;  so  that  society  is  annovedand  disturbed  both  in 
private  and  public  by  the  vicious;  those  immoral  and  heedless  mon- 
sters of  our  race  who  instead  of  striving  to  better  the  condition  of 
mankind  ire  employed  in  making  it  .worse. 

And  you,  my  afflicted  fellow  mortal,  are  one  of  this  class  of 
mankind,  are  a  son  or  a  daughter  o£^  vice.  Some  one  or  more  of 
all  the  vices  you  have  s[iven  way  to  and  practised,  in  some  or  many 
of  all  their  forms.  You  have  gone  on,  heedless  of  tlie  laws  of 
God  and  man,  regardless  of  the  peace  and  happiness  of  your  fel- 
low beings,  and  of  your  own  peace  and  happiness,  and  what  is 
worse,  of  tb;  honor  and  glory  of  God.  Perhaps  you  have  pursu- 
ed this  course  a  length  of  time,  it  may  be  a  number  of  years,  and 
that  you  have  gone  to  great,  and  enormous,  and  frightful  lengths  in 
sin  and  wickedness  and  cri'me.  It  is  possible  you  may  have  con- 
'  cealed  your  vices,  not  only  from  the  eyes  of  the  public  officers,  so 
as  to  have  escaped  detection,  but  even  from  the  eyes  of  the  sober 
and  virtuous  part  of  mankind.  So  that  your  sins  are  secret  sins, 
€ir  at  least  known  to  but  few,  and  you  practicing  them  as  ever.  Or 
it  may  be  that  you  have  pushed  them  to  such  a  length  that  you 
have  been  discovered  by  the  keen  and  watchful  eye  of  the  public 
guardians,  and  seized  by  the  strong  arm  of  justice;  and  that  you 
are  at  this  time  in  jail  or  in  the  penitentiary. 

Be  that  as  it  miy,  by  the  just  appointment  of  Providence  you 
are  overtaken  by  a  disease  of  some  kind  or  another,  of  more  or 
iessi  violence.     It  may  be  so  shght  as  to  allow  you  strength  still  to 


140  C!6NS0LATI6NS  6F 

go  on  in  the  practice  of  that  vice  in  which  your  corrupt  heart  takes 
delight.  If  so,  you  may  need  more  consolation  than  you  think 
you  do.  A  disease  has  laid  hold  upon  you,  and  the  more  you 
indulge  in  vice  the  stronger  and  stronger  will  its  hold  Ix.'come  till 
it  may  bring  you  to  your  bed,  if  not  to  your  grave.  If  this  is 
your  case,  if  you  are  afflicted  wiih  disease  and  going  on  thus  in  vice 
and  wickedness,  my  first  and  last,  my  main  and  only  consolation 
•which  I  shall  offer  you,  is  to  tell  you  to  stop.  It  is  to  give  you 
the  faithful  ind  w«irm  advice  of  a  true  friend.  It  is  to  give  you 
warning  in  time,  and  to  urge  you  by  all  that  is  sacred  and  good, 
and  all  that  is  terrible,  by  every  consideration  that  heaven  and 
earth,  yea,  and  hell  itself  present  to  view,  to  stop  in  your  unholy 
and  mad  career.  By  the  claims  which  society  has  upon  you,  by  a 
sense  of  duty  to  others,  to  yourself  and  to  the  great  and  fearful 
God  who  made  you  and  who  cannot  look  upon  sin  with  allowance. 
By  all  these  weighty  considerations  I  would  call  upon  you  to  cease 
from  vice  if  you  would  have  consolation  in  your  afflictions.  By 
the  stings  of  your  own  conscience  I  would  urge  you  to  stop. — 
By  the  danger  of  having  the  finger  of  scorn  and  contempt  poiriled 
at  you  on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left.  By  the  terrors  and  pen- 
alties of  human  law,  and  by  the  more  awful  terrors  and  penalties  of 
the  good  and  holy  and  inflexible  law  of  the  eternal  God,  who  is  all 
knowing  to  know  and  almighty  to  execute.  By  your  own  love  of 
yourself  as  an  intelligent  and  moral  being.  By  the  charms  which 
a  good  name  has,  a  good  reputation,  a  good  character.  But  if 
these  considerations,  and  this  love  of  character,  have  no  weight 
with  you,  you  are  a  being  of  feeling,  consider  what  the  disease 
that  has  settled  upon  you  has  already  done,  is  now  doing  and 
threatens  to  do,  if  you  do  not  stop  from  your  vicious  course  and 
bestir  yourself  to  cheek  and  remove  it.  It  is  your  disease  which 
has  introduced  me  to  you,  and  it  is  my  great  object  to  offer  you 
consolation.  Your  case  differs  from  all  the  foregoing.  Your  dis- 
ease has  been  either  brought  on  or  increased  by  your  own  criminal 
indulgence  m  vice.  It  is  a  mat(er  then,  in  a  great  measure,  of 
your  own  choice  and  of  your  own  procuring,  and  if  you  have  not, 
by  too  long  and  too  frequent  indulgence,  settled  and  riveted  it  too 
deep  in  your  constitution,  it  may  still  be  subject  to  your  own 
choice  and  disposal.  It  may  depend  upon  your  indulgence  in  vice 
or  your  ceasing  from  it.  The  way  that  I  have  attempted  to  con- 
sole the  afflicted  is  to  advise  them  to  use  suitable  and  promising 
means  for  restoration,  and  to  indulge  a  hope  that  they  will  <iet  we'l, 
or  it  has  been  to  sooth  them  as  much  as  possible  under  their  afflic- 
tions. With  you  then  my  course  is  pi  nn  and  easy  to  be  discover- 
ed. You  have  only  to  remove  the  ciuse  of  your  disense  nnd  then 
you  will  get  well.    And  this  cause  you  can  come  at,  it  is  withia 


THE    AFFLICTED.  I4i> 

ydur  reach  and  within  your  power,  if  (as  we  have  said,)  you  have 
not  gone  too  far  and  given  tlie  disorder  to<)  d jep  a  root.  If  you 
Tvould  be  consoled  then,  and  so  effectually  consoled  as  to  need  na 
more  consoluion,  on  the  subjcci,  stop,  stop  1  say,  and  ^et  well.-*^ 
Never  indulge  again,  not  one  sintjle  time  in  vice  from  this  mo- 
ment forwards.  Slop,  O  stop!  before  the  disease  stops  yon.  If 
you  gither  up  resolution  and  receive  this  my  great  and  good 
Consolation  and  get  well,  it  will  be  unnecessary  for  me  to  refer 
you  to  the  tvvotirst  parts  of  my  book.  You  would  have  no  need 
to  read  them,  except  as  a  well  person  may  read  them.  Should  you 
take  my  advice,  and  act  upon  it  from  this  time  forth,  so  as  to  re- 
move your  disease,  you  will  by  thus  removing  it,  remove  two  at 
once,  the  moral  disease  which  you  have  chosen  to  fix  upjn  youf 
chdracter,  which  is,  of  the  two,  by  far  the  worse,  and  the  natural 
discLLse  in  your  body.  But  in  spite  of  the  powerful  and  repeated 
rebukes  of  your  own  conscience,  and  all  the  high  and  weighty 
claims  and  considerations  which  1,  and  all  your  friends,  togeihej 
with  your  doctor,  have  urged  upon  you,  you  hear  not,  you  heed  not, 
un'il  at  length  you  are  broutjht  down  by  the  disease  and  stopped, 
etTectually  stopped,  confined  to  your  room  and  to  your  bed,  flat 
upon  your  back,  nnd  brought  so  not  only  by  diseiise,  but  by  a  die* 
ease  arising  out  of  vice,  which  makes  it  the  more  hateful,  and  de- 
test'ble,  and  loathsome. 

Most  richly  you  now  deserve  to  be  forsaken  by  all  in  whom  there 
is  the  least  spark  of  decency  and  virtue.  Especially  oy  all  those 
who  have  so  warmly,  so  earnestly,  so  repeatedly  and  so  long  cau- 
tioned and  warned  you  against  the  danger  of  ceitina  into  the  con- 
dition into  which  you  h:ive  now  Hillen.  You  fully  deserve  to  be 
abmdoned,  and  given  up  by  all  heing>,  visible  and  invisible,  hu» 
man,  angelic,  and  divine,  who  nre  capable  of  ministering  to  youf 
relief  and  .comfort.  But  strange  to  tell,  this  is  not  yet  the  case. 
There  are  a  finv  persons,  among  whom  is  your  doctor,  who  do  not 
give  you  up.  Persons  wlvo  possess  an  uncommon  decree  ol  hu- 
mini'y,  whom  your  great  and  crying  wickedness,  and  deep  and 
dreadful  pollution,  have  not  yet  driven  from  you.  Whose  hearts 
are  still  anxious  and  strongly  desirous  to  relieve  and  rescue  you  if 
possible.  And  all  this  not  fiora  any  love  which  ihey  have  to  ^ouE 
chaiacter,  but  the  high  conc.-rn  which  they  have  for  your  nature. 
Even  the  invisible  holy  angels  are  willincr  and  ready  to  do  you 
good.  Ye',  even  God  himself  ha«  not  yet  cast  you  off  to  utter 
d^spiir  and  endless  wo,  but  is  now,  -ifer  all  your  heaven-diring 
crimes  and  unspeakable  ingiatiude  towards  him,  wailing  to  bet. 
g'-af  ious,  willing  to  forgive  and  receive  you.  And  to  prove  this, 
he  hfs  commissioner!  me,  and  is  now  sentlin^  me,  the  writer  of 
♦he  consolations  of  the  afflicted,   the  friend  of  the  afflicted,  the 

12* 


14fe  OONSOLATIONS  OF 

ftiend  of  the  vicious,  (so  long  as  he  himself  will  be  their  fViend,) 
to  visit  you  with  counsels  of  mercy,  with  offers  of  pardon  and 
life;  sending  me  with  all  the  consolations  which  can  consistently 
be  offered  to  a  person  in  your  wretched  condition.  1  am  there- 
fore come  into  this  your  unhappy  sick  room,  like  your  pljysician, 
not  to  catch  your  disease,  but  to  cure  it.  1  am  come,  sent  by  the 
great  God  who  created  us  both,  whose  goodness  has  ever  be'n 
around  us,  and  whose  power  o\er  us.  I  am  come  on  an  errand 
of  love  and  pity  to  yon,  a  poor  miserable  creature,  and  am  perhaps, 
the  last  "messenger  of  giv^ce"  that  will  ever  be  sent  to  you  a  dy- 
ing mortal,  with  offers  of  pardon  and  life,  with  stnuig  consola- 
tions and  comforts.  1  therefore  stand  this  day  over  you,  by  your 
feed  side,  and  in  the  name,  and  by  the  authority  of  the  (lod  of 
mercy  and  salvation,  most  solemnly,  most  earnestly,  most  warmly, 
and  most  affectionately  address  you.  Holy  angels,  upon  the  wing, 
with  deepest  concern  surround  me,  and  God  himself  looks  on, 
while  I  offer  to  your  disconsolate  spirit,  these  great  offers  of  con- 
solation and  peace,  and  make,  perhaps,  the  last  appeal  to  your  con- 
science, and  for  your  decision,  that  will  ever  be  made  to  you  tliis 
3ide  the  eternal  world.  No  doubt  devils  cling  to  you  with  anxiety 
greater  than  human  language  can  express,  lest  now,  after  all  youE 
past  life  of  vice  and  sin,  you  should  repent  of  the  same  and  es- 
cape from  their  ranks,  disown  them  for  ever,  and  res<;lve  eternal 
hate  and  war  against  them,  and  rejoice  with  joy  unspeakable,  to 
be  allowed  at  this  late  hour,  to  join  the  rank  of  the  decent,  the 
virtuous  and  the  g«)dly.  To  be  instrumental  in  effecting  this,  is 
Ihe  great  object  of  my  errand.  I  come  to  bring  you  consolations, 
but  your  spirit  is  incapable  of  receiving  these  happy  and  cheering 
consolations  which  I  brin»,  because  you  have  ever  resorted  to  vi- 
cious indulgences  for  consolations  in  past  life,  and  these  that  I 
have  are  virtuous,  and  have  no  connection  with  vice..  You  se« 
yourcondiion  then,  here  you  lie  confined  to  your  back  by  disease, 
unable  to  rise,  and  unable  to  resort  to  your  former  vicious  indnl-^ 
gences,  so  as  thereby  to  gain  even  temporary  consolation.  Dis- 
consolate! disconsolate  are  you  indeed !  Low  and  feeble,  and  to 
all  appearance  gone  beyond  the  hope  of  obtaining  any  consolations 
whatever,  unless  you  accept  these  holy  comforts  which  I  am  per- 
mitted and  commissioned  to  bring  you!  You  have  no  rich  treas- 
ure of  sacred,  holy  knowledfife,  and  yoiir  passions  are  all  out  of 
order;  peace  is  gone,  and  hope  is  almost  on  the  wing  to  take  its 
flight.  Darkness  and  de-sp^ir  you  now  discover  to  be  fathering 
yound  vou,  and  threatening  to  overwhelm  you.  Your  disease  ra- 
ges with  greater  and  greater  violence,  and  manifestly  threatens  soon 
lo  close  your  career  of  vice,  and  at  the  same  time  your  day  of 
^ace.     Of  your  rapid  decline  you  arc  very  sensible.     You  see 


THB    APFLICTBB.  14S 

phinly  that  there  must  be  a  change  for  the  better  in  a  very  short 
timf,  or  you  must  die.  1'he  world  with  all  its  scenes  falls  back 
out  of  y()ur  sight  The  business,  and  pleasures,  and  allurements 
of  it  cannot  be  brought  before  you  so  as  to  attract  your  attention, 
and  beguile  your  pains  and  give  yor,  quieting  comfort.  Your 
con)panioiis  in  vice  are  poor  comforters  now.  They  are  ex- 
perienced in  nothing  but  sensuality  and  sin;  their  thoughts  have 
all  been  of  this  world,  as  well  as  their  desire^  and  lusts.  "Like 
brutes  they  live."  Like  brutes  they  ate.  Their  thoughts  have 
all  been  confined  to  the  surfice  of  the  earth.  They  have  nol 
looked  beyond  the  stars.  They  have  built  too  low.  And  as  they 
have  done,  so  did  you.  When  they  come  into  your  p'esence  and 
attempt  to  comfort  you,  they  talk  of  the  things  of  this  world,  but 
this  world  is  out  of  your  view.  They  say  not}>ing  a})Out  a  tnture 
state  of  existence.  Nothing  about  immortality  and  eternal  hap- 
piness. They  say  to  you  "be  c  (urageous,  act  the  man,  and  if 
you  have  to  die,  die  like  a  man."  By  this  they  mean  that  you 
should  he  courageous,  and  act  the  brute,,  and  die  like  the  brute. 
Of  all  comforts,  these  to  a  dying  person,  are  the  most  con)forl]ess. 
To  present  the  world  to  him  when  he  is  about  leaving  it,  and  not  to 
say  a  word  about  whiiher  he  is  going,  but  to  cast  as  much  d  irkness 
around  him  as  possible.  Thus  you  have  found  them  in  their  late 
visits  to  you.  They  did  you  no  good ;  they  gave  you  no  comfort, 
but  bewildered  yom  mind,  and  added,  greatly  added,  to  your  per- 
plexities and  pains.  Tliey  were  literally  ministers  of  darkness 
and  not  of  ligh^  They  do  not  pretend  to  have  any  liirht,  and  ac- 
tually ha-.e  none.  And  al.is!  thus  it  is  with  yourself.  "It  is  ap- 
pointed unto  all  men  once  to  die."  In  this  truth  all  agree,  -md 
you  seem  to  hivecnme  to  the  very  borders  of  this  most  solemn  and 
trying  change.  You  look  forward  in  expectation  of  this  change, 
as  being  but  a  few  days,  and  it  m>!y  be,  only  a  few  hours  before 
you.  Neither  the  eyes  of  your  bodv  or  your  mind  are  yet  out, 
but  they  are  both  turned  away  from  the  world.  The  world  is  now. 
completely  behind  you,  you  cannot  see  it.  Nevertheless  your  eyes 
unavoidably  look,  and  look  forward  (<s  they  can  look  no  other 
way)  and  strive  to  see.  Y  )ur  spirit  is  moved,,  and  stirred,  and 
^'orks  within  you.  Thoughts  must  rise,  will  rise,  do  rise,  and  re- 
Yolve  in  your  breast.  As  you  feel  yourself  to  have  come  to  tlie 
end  of  your  bfe  on  the  earth,  and  the  time  to  be  at  hand  when 
your  breath  must  stop,  and  your  eyes  go  out,  your  spirit  anxiously 
asks,  inevitablv  and  urgently  asks  a  few  of  the  greatest  of  all 
question'. —  fs  there  apother  world?  sh  dl  I  live  again?  am  I  im- 
mortal? if  [  live  again  will  J  be  happy?  Though  there  have  been 
a  few  hird-heirted,  s^ony-'^earted  |)er?ons*in  ditferent  ages,  who 
at  the  hour  of  death  either  did  not  feel  anxious  about  these  grea^ 


144  MiKSOLATIONS   »» 

questiong,  or  pretended  not  to,  yet  nfter  all  your  p'^gf  negfect,  ^n% 
it  ijiay  be  spurning  of  them,  your  spirit  finds  it  to  be  more  th;in  it 
ean  no  to  neglect  and  spurn  tbem  now.  Itexcliiinis  with  the  in- 
tense and  exquisite  feelings  of  a  departing  spirit. — Whither, 
whither, O  whither  am  I  goin/j?  Your  thoughts  fly  like  lightning. 
Am  J  going  into  the  deep,  dark  abyss  of  annihilation,  of  nothingj 
no  longer  to  exist,  but  to  (ume  to  "a  perpetual  end?"  You  se« 
and  feel  that  to  believe  this,  will  be  doing  ihe  greatest  possible 
violence  to  your  spirit's  nature;  that  it  is  utterly  repugnant  to  its 
constitution.  You  take  a  rapid  view  of  a  human  soul  as  com- 
pared to  all  other  beings  of  ihe earth.  You  directly  and  manifest- 
ly see  Hs  transtiendent  superiority.  You  behold  it  a  great  and 
sliining  light  in  the  midst  of  this  rnateiijl  world,  having  surpas- 
sing? brightness  and  glory,  and  say  can  it  be  that  this  light  was 
lisfhted  up  to  burn  but  for  a  d  .y,  and  then  go  out  for  ever?  Your 
own  spirit  replies  with  emphasis,  no.  From  the  large  amount  of 
knowledge  which  a  humm  spirit  can  obtain  during  its  short  race 
on  earth — from  its  exquisite  sensibilities,  its  insatiable  love  of 
life,  and  its  boundless  desires,  not  possible  to  be  gratified  here,  you 
hastily  come  to  the  conclusion  that  you  will  indeed  live  ai/r.in. 
From  the  broad  and  universal  fact,  ihat  all  notions  ha' e,  in  all 
ages,  no  matter  how  jjrops  their  ignorance,  nor  how  deep  their  deg- 
radation, either  with  or  without  revelation,  thoucrht,  and  felt,  ^nd 
believed  thnt  they  would  Hveagain,  though  there  have  been  some 
exceptions  of  individuals,  yet  2/"^  c.iunot  in  this  most  serious  and 
trving  moment,  possess  srich  obstinate  and  monstrous  hardihood. 
Tour  spirit  finds  itself  unable  to  doubt,  and  feels  itself  constrain- 
ed to  jf)in  with  the  great  majority  of  your  race  in  believing  that 
you  will  live  aguin.  And  as  you  conclude  that  you  will  live  again, 
you  cannot  see  -iny  reason  why  you  shojild  not  almys  livr^  and 
be  im-nort  d.  Y'>u  havini;  this  rapidly,  but  a«!  reasonably  as  ra- 
pidly, settled  t'lese  pr  vious  and  minor  questions,  there  rem  -  ins 
one  more,  which  is  Hie  Inst  and  crreate^t  of  all,  for  your  mind  to 
corne  to  rest  upon — Tn  living  for  ever  shall  I  be  happy?  O  (Ques- 
tion! qviestion!  area  test  of  alliiideed!  what,  will  immortality  be 
without  hap|)iness?  Such  is  the  unspeakable  solicitude  of  your 
Sjurit  in  asking  this  question,  th"it  it  writhes  within  you  while  you 
do  it.  In  the  tra»isi*ory  e.nhly  life  which  you  have  p'S%  though 
there  is  but  little  hnppiness  heie  below,  vet  you  have,  even  in  your 
vicious  career,  found  en<^u2h  to  enable  vou  to  le-?rn  the  difference 
between  hnf)piness  .nd  misery,  and  yo^r  spirit  lonszs  and  p;ints  to 
kno-v  wh'-t  are  its  prospeets  f  >r  hippiness  ,in  the  etc^n*  1  world. 
Il>\vev*^r  ianorant  vou  may  have  lived,  your  life  has  been  spent  in 
a  ehris'.i  n  land,  and  it  is  hirdlv  poss^'le  for  you  to  be  so  is'ioront 
as  to  know  nothing  of  the  chrisiiaa  religion  j  iiioie  likely  you  have 


THB  AFFLICTS9.  145 

heen  well  instructed  in  it.  It  is  the  only  religion  known  to  man 
which  can  enable  his  dying  spirit  to  know  with  any  certainty, 
whether  it  will  be  happy  in  the  eternal  world  or  not.  But  this  re- 
ligion you  have  not  only  turned  away  from,  but  despised  and  re- 
jected, and  gone  lar  m  the  way  of  folly,  and  vice,  and  sin,  and  un- 
holiness.  This  religion,  throughout,  teaches  virtue  and  not  vice, 
and  the  sum  of  it  is,  without  purity  of  character  no  person  shall 
bo  happy  in  the  eternal  world.— "Without  holiivess  no  man  shall 
SEE  THE  Lord."     "The  rrRE  in  heart  shall  see  God." 

This  is  tlie  great  truth  of  the  Bible,  and  without  the  belief  and 
practice  of  it,  the  Bible  is  of  no  use.  Believed  and  practiced,  the 
Bible  is  of  the  highest  use.  At  this  juncture,  at  this  most  solemn, 
soul-trying  moment,  you  look  back  over  your  past  life.  All  the 
scenes  of  it  are  fresh  in  your  memory,  and  present  to  your  view. 
A  gloomy,  dark  picture — black  "  as  the  tents  of  Kedar" — dark  as 
mid-night,  and  terrible  to  look  back  upon.  Such  is  the  picture 
you  have  drawn  of  yourself,  such  the  history  you  have  furnished, 
and  you  cannot  new  help  it.  Over  the  past,  none  have  power; 
but  the  past  may  have  great  power  over  you,  and  actually  has,  as 
you  now  look  back  upon  it.  The  whole  course  of  your  conduct 
towards  your  parents,  your  brothers  and  sisters,  and  all  your  good 
and  kind,  and  virtuous  friends,  rises  up  before  you  and  disturbs 
your  soul.  Vou  now  exclaim  with  the  deepest  feeling,  and  the 
mos«  pungent  grief,  O  my  mother!  my  mother!  my  tender,  and  af« 
fectionate,  and  pious  mother!  her  kind  care  over  the  moments 
of  my  childhood,  her  sweet  kisses  and  caresses,  and  in  riper  years 
her  gentle  teachings  and  faithful  warnings,  all  unfelt  and  unheed- 
ed by  me!  O  wretch,  wretch,  wretch  that  1  am!  All  her  soft  and 
gentle  dealings,  and  soothing,  and  restraining  words,  and  looks, 
and  the  darts  of  pain  too,  which  my  vicious  course  caused  to 
pierce  her  tender  heart,  are  now  become  pointed  daggers  in  my 
own  ungrateful,  unfeeling, unholy  and  guihy  soul!  My  fi»her  too, 
was  kind,  was  faithful  to  teach,  and  counsel,  and  guide,  and  warn, 
and  threaten,  and  rebuke,  and  chastise,  hut  I  took  it  all  for  unkind- 
nes-,  and  despised  every  thing  he  could  say  or  do  for  me.  I  es- 
teemed his  counsels  folly,  Ins  warnings  no  better,  and  his  correc- 
tions tyranny  My  dea'-  brothers  and  sisters  that  are  now  alive,  can 
each  say,  "I  told  you  so,"  "I  told  you,  you  would  come  to  this."  It 
is  true  they  did  aflectirmjtely  can' ion  me,  and  foretell  my  ruin, 
and  repeat  their  c  lutions  and  predictions,  and  piirstie  me  as  though 
they  could  not,  and  would  not  give  me  up.  Their  \\o(\^  and  f'X- 
ertions  are  now  like  b.-irbed  arrows  in  my  heart.  My  friends  were- 
numerous;  many  of  them  moral,  and  virtuous,  and  resprc^ahlf  ; 
and  many,  f  lelicve,  tndy  'fli^iri-s.  Tl  f^y  are  ?11  wi  ncfses 
against  mo  thijs  day;  and  especially  the  faithful  ministers  of  the 


146  CdNsoLATiaNS  ot 

gospel  whom  Tsometimfis  hearA,  and  might  have  listened  to  at  all 
times,  but  I  refused.  I  now  see  that  all  these  were  in  earnest. — 
That  they  believed  what  thev  said  and  taught. — That  they  felt  it 
too. — That  they  felt  for  me. — 'Vhut  they  believed  T  was  immortal. 
That  they  loved  me  And  in  justice  to  them,  I  must  acknowledge, 
that  they  all  said  that  God  too,  was  kind,  and  waited  to  be  gra- 
cious, was  willing  to  forgive  and  receive  me,  and  make  me  his  son, 
and  be  to  me  a  father,  better  than  all  fit  hers  or  friends  besides. 
Abundant  proof  have  they  all,  and  God  too  by  his  providence, 
given,  of  their  and  his  kindnes  and  goodnes  to  me.  Yea  some  of 
you  are  now  mMnifesting  your  continued,  and  unwearied,  and  un- 
common kindness,  and  condescension,  and  affection.  Your  kind- 
ness is  great  beyond  measure  and  beyfind  expression.  H^re  you 
are  now  around  ine  a  most  vile,  and  diseased,  and  loathsome,  and 
sinful,  and  ill  deserving  wretch.  And  there  too,  stands  the  kind 
doctor  who  is  doing  all  he  can  for  me.  And  even  here,  over  me, 
stands  the  writer  of  the  consolations  of  the  afflicted,  the  great 
friend  of  the  afflicted,  who  is  devoted  to  do  them  good  and  console 
them,  if  thoy  are  within  the  reach  of  consolation.  You,  dear  sir, 
dear  friend,  have  followed  me  in  my  career  with  your  counsels, 
and  warnings,  and  threatenings,  and  entreaties.  But  as  to  all 
others, so  to  you,  my  ear  was  deaf,  my  heart  was  hard;  I  neither 
heard  nor  felt;  I  put  you  off.  To  you  the  whole  catalogue  of  my 
crimes  is  known.  lam,  in  truth,  constrained  to  say  that  you 
have  been  my  continual  and  faithful  monitor.  The  remembrance 
of  my  cold-hearted,  proud-hearted,  stern  rejection  of  you,  nov7 
causes  my  conscience  to  sting  me  like  an  adder  within  my  soul. 
The  gospel  too,  did  warn,  but  I  trampled  it  under  my  feet.  Ah! 
this  was  the  height  of  my  guilt,  This  stings  the  keenest  and 
deepest  of  afl.  The  gospel!  a  revelation  of  God's  will  to  man, 
to  enable  him  safely  to  shape  his  course  here  below,  and  happily 
to  enter  into  that  eternal  world,  on  to  the  very  borders  of  which,  to 
all  human  appearance,  I  have  now  come.  Yes,  the  eternil  world 
just  before  me,  and  I  neither  safe  nor  happy.  What  shall  I  do? 
what  shall  I  do?  O  friend  of  the  afllicted  and  of  the  dying,  speak 
and  say!  for  my  unhappy  soul  is  spotted,  and  stained,  and  covered 
with  guilt  and  polution,  and  overwhelmed  with  sorrow  and  grief, 
and  feels  like  sinking  into  hopeless  despair,  even  before  I  die. 

No  wonder,  no  wonder  my  feeble  dying  fellow  creature,  that 
your  spirit  should  now  be  distressed  and  in  anguish,  since  you 
have  fought  your  wicked  way  against  all  these  friends,  and  God 
himself,  and  his  gospel.  You  now,  in  this  trying  hour,  feel  the 
need  of  consolation  whether  you  deserve  it  or  not.  It  is  possible 
you  may  be  gone  beyond  the  re'ch  of  consol  ition,  and  may  now 
be  enveloped  in  the  immovable  glooms  of  despair.    It  is  out  my 


THE  AFFLICTED.  147 

power  to  tell;  indeed  it  may  be  known  to  none  but  God  himself. 
I  hope  you  are  not,  and  feel  myself  strongly  urged,  yea,  bound  by 
the  sacredness  of  my  undertaking,  and  by  my  duty,  not  to  give 
over  my  attempts  to  console  you,  as  long  as  you  have  strength  and 
hfe  enough  to  think,  and  hear,  and  attend.     But  all  I  can  do  for 
you  in  this  extremity  of  yq^ur  case,  is,  in  the  name,  and  by  the 
warrant  of  God  Almighty,  once  more,  even  now  again,  to  offer 
yon  pardon  and  life.     Accept  these  and  your  spirit  will  be  con- 
soled.    Believe  the  gospel ;  repen:  of  all  your  crying  sins.     Look 
away,  in  haste,  to  him  who  "died  the  just  for  the  unjust."     Em- 
brace the  Saviour.     Embrace  God's  whole  plan  of  salvation,  and 
you  may,  even  in  a  few  moments,  rejoice  in  hope,  and  your  conso- 
lations m*iy  abound  by  Christ;  and,  vile  as  you  may  have  been, 
if  your  spirit  beat  this  time  called  away,  it  may  go  rejoicing  and 
Iriu'iiphing  in  God.     Your  condition   will  not  now  permit  me  to 
speak  to  you  at  any  length,  but  for  your  encouragement  I  will  just 
refer  you  to  three  CHses  given  in  the  scriptures.     The  first  is  the 
prodigal  son.     Bear  in  mind  to  what  lengths  he  went,  in  vice,  and 
sin,  and  iniquity;  and  remember  how  graciously  and  affectionately 
he  was  received  when  he  returned.     Again,  think  of  the  exceed- 
ing and  raging  madness  and  wickedness  of  Saul,  and  of  his  sud- 
den and  happy  conversion.     But  last  and  most  of  all,  think  of  the 
dying  thief  who  was  crucified  with  his  Saviour,  and  who  even  af- 
ter he  was,  for  his  great  ciimes,  nailed  to  the  rugged  wood,  railed 
upon  his  Saviour,  then  dying  for  him  a  most  guilty  wretch.  Think! 
O  think!  I  say,  of  this  unequally  great  sinner, — this  hardened, 
ha'-dened  monster,  who  in  his  very  last  moments,  in  his  dying  ag- 
onies, reviled  his  unspeakably  compassionate  Saviour  who  hung  by 
his  side;  but  suddenly  stopped,  and  with  a  penitential  melting 
heart,  cried  out — "Lord  remember  me  when  thou  comest  into  thy 
kingdom."     Let  the  reply  which  the  insulted  and  abused  Saviour 
immediately  gave  him,  encourage,  and  support,  and  console  your 
sinking  spirit — "To-day  shalt  thou  be  with  me  in  Paradise." — 
This  is  all  I  can  do   for  you,  to  tell  you  these  things,  and  to 
recommend  them  unto  you.     To  persuade  and  exhort  you  to  take 
this  course,  this  last,  this  only  resort  to  obtain  consolation.     But 
if  1  am  done  speaking  to  you,  I  can  attempt  to  speak  to  God,  and 
this  attempt  1  will  now  make. 

O  Lord  God  Almighty !  Creator  of  the  heavens  and  of  the  earth, 
great  God,  with  whom  is  all  power  to  make  worlds  and  to  govern 
them,  to  make  the  universe  out  of  nothing,  and  to  uphold  it,  and 
and  control  it — all  power  to  make  the  soul  of  man  and  his  body — 
to  give  life,  and  to  take  life — to  redeem  the  soul  and  to  raise  the 
body  again  from  the  dust — all  power  to  coYnfort  and  console  the 
disconsolate  spirit  of  man!     Thy  human  creature  that  lies  upon 


14^  CONSOLATIONS  0^ 

this  bed,  sinful,  and  diseased,  and  disconsolate,  needs  consolation, 
and  greater,  and  more  immediate,  and  more  effect u^il  consolation, 
than  I  or  any  of  our  feHow  creatures,  or  any  of  thy  creatures  can. 
give;  1  therefore  come  unto  thee,  the  great  source  and  fountain 
of  all  consolation,  m  whom  is  inexhaustible  fullness  of  happiness 
and  peace,  who  canst  by  one  act  of  ibine,  or  by  one  single  word, 
pardon  and  console,  deliver  and  bless,  yea,  even  fill  with  consola- 
tion and  joy,  this  sinful,  sinking  worm.  Come,  O  come, 
make  haste  to  deliver!  snatch  this  poor  soul  from  sin,  and  misery, 
and  ruin,  as  a  brand  from  the  fire!  O  mngnify,  magnify  the  riches 
of  thy  grace  in  working  instantaneous  wonders  of  grace  and  sal- 
vation for  it!  Make  it  a  splendid  trophy  of  thy  grace,  a  bright 
and  glorious  and  everlasting  monument  of  thy  redeeming  love. 
Without  delay  O  God!  come  dovv'n  and  save.  Give  unto  it  faith 
and  repentance  and  holy  love,  and  entire  sanctification  of  its 
nature.  O  make  it  a  new  creature  in  Christ  Jesus,  1  very  humbly 
and  most  earnestly  pray.  Even  now  banish  from  it  all  clouds  and 
glooms,  darkness  and  doubts,  and  fill  it  with  peace  and  hope.  If 
it  be  thy  righteous  will,  grentLord  of  Lords,  and  King  of  Kings, 
sovereign  Disposer  of  all  events,  even  yet,  at  this  extreme  mo- 
ment, rebuke  the  disease  and  restore  this  afflicted  dying  mortal 
to  health  and  active  life:  that  it  may  from  this  time  forth  see  many 
good  days  upon  the  earth,  and  long  be  thy  faithful  servant,  devoted 
m  all  its  powers  of  soul  and.  body  to  serve  thee,  to  spend  and  be 
spent  in  doing  good;  in  actively  advancing  the  glory  of  thy  great 
name,  and  the  good  of  man.  But  if  it  be  thy  sovereign  determi- 
nation for  its  body  at  this  time  to  die,  and  its  spirit  to  take  its 
flight;  be  moved  with  pity  and  do  not  drive  it  away  in  its  sins;  lot 
this  poor  mortal  die  the  death  of  the  righteous,  and  let  its  last 
end  be  like  his.  And  now,  into  thy  compfjssionate  hands,  O  God 
of  grace  and  tender  mercy,  of  amazing  condescension  love  and 
salvation,  I  resign  this  my  feeble  In ngiiishing fellow  mortal;  thine 
it  is  by  crCrTtion  and  by  preservation,  make  it  thine  by  redemption 
and  eternal  salvation,  to  the  praise  of  the  glory  of  thy  great  name, 
now  and  for  ever. 

Thus  my  unhappy,  afflicted  friend,  I  have  familiarly  talked  to 
you,  and  taught  you,  and  cautioned  you,  and  warned  you,  and 
plead  with  and  persuaded  you,  and  prayed  for  you;  and  all  these 
I  have  done  in  sincenly,  with  a  feeling,  affectionate  heart,  with 
all  my  soul.  My  duty  towards  you  appears  to  be  done,  and  the 
time  to  have  com^,  when  T  should  take  my  leave  of  you  and  with- 
draw, but  before  F  go  1  will  say  a  word  or  two  more.  Pray  for 
yourself,  as  the  dying  thief  did,  and  if  it  please  God  to  raise  you 
up  and  restore  you  to  health  and  prolong  your  life,  remember  how 
you  felt  when  you  were  at  the  point  of  death,  remember  how  ear- 


THM    AFFLICTED.  149 

liestiy  yon  desired  to  have  a  little  time  allowed  you,  if  it  were  but 
a  month,  or  a  week,  or  a  day  or  two,  of  coaiposme  and  freedom 
from  pun,  to  m^ke  your  peace  with  God;  and  henceforth  be  con- 
ti'iitaily  engaged  in  seeking  "his  favor  whicii  is  life,  and  his  lov- 
ing kindness  whi«;h  is  better  !han  lifi;\"  Do  all  the  good  you  can 
— lose  no  opportunity  to  teach  and  persuade  your  fellow  creatures 
to  prepare  to  die  and  to  meet  •'rod.  Nev^T,  never  so  much  as  look 
tow-rds,  or  have  one  desiring  thought  or  feeling  towards  your  form- 
er c  -.rseof  vice  and  sin.  But  should  it  not  please  him  to  restore 
yon,  'od  should  you  be  call-'d  to  die  in  a  few  days,  or  even  in  a 
few  hours,  die  with  the  voice  of  prayer  on  your  lips,  if  you  have 
strenc'h  enough  to  utter  a  voice,  if  not  with  prayerful  desires  on 
your  heart.  And  now,  as  1  have  done  and  said  all  I  can,  give  me 
your  h.ind  that  I  may  bid  you  an  affectionate  farewell.  Farewell, 
farewell  ray  afflicted  fellow  mortal,  and  should  we  never  meet 
again  on  earth,  may  the. infinite  and  merciful  God  who  made  us, 
grant  that  we  may  meet  in  heaven;  no  more  to  sin,  no  more  to  be 
afflicted,  but  for  ever  to  feel  grateful  to  him,  and  to  enjoy  him,  and 
unceasingly  and  eternally  to  praise  and  glorify  his  adorable  and 
gracious  Majesty. 
Jan.  I6th,  1830. 


FOR  PARENTS  IN  AFFLICTION. 

A  considerable  part  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  continent  of 
America  are  parents.  A  larger  proportion  of  the  community  are 
married,  and  raising  families,  than  in  older  settled  countries. — 
And  far  the  larger  part  of  this  proportion  are  to  he  found  in  the 
lower  classes  of  society,  and  particularly  among  the  poor.  All 
persons  are  liable  to  afflictions  and  de-ith;  parenis  are  not  exempt. 
It  is  no  uncommon  thing  in  a  family,  for  one,  or  both,  the  parents 
to  be  disabled  by  some  calamity  or  disease;  or  to  be  cut  ofi'  by 
death.  The  children  have  many  and  great  ditfjculties  lo  cope 
with,  when  their  parents  are  virtuous  and  industrious,  and  both 
spared  to  contrive  and  labor  for  them,  and.  instruct,  and  encour- 
age, and  counsel  them.     Their  ditficulties  are  increased  when 

13 


150  CONSOLATIONS    OF 

either  their  father  or  mother  is  idle,  or  vicipus,  or  is  disabled  by 
sickness  or  cut  off  by  death.  Much  more,  when  both  are  disabled 
or  cut  off.  In  either  case  it  is  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  for  the 
children  to  be  kept  together.  As  a  general  rule,  it  is  much  better 
for  them  to  be  raised  together,  than  to  be  separated  into  different 
families.  The  loss  of  one  or  both  parents,  is  not  only  the  loss  of 
those  who  are  bound  to  provide  for  them,  but  it  is  the  loss  of  that 
natural  affection  which  they  can  find  in  none  else.  Parents  may 
be  deficient  in  providing  for  them,  may  indulge  them  too  much, 
or  may  even  show  partiahty  to  one,  to  the  injury  of  others;  but 
when  mixed  in  other  families,  with  other  children,  their  injuries 
are  apt  to  be  greater  and  more  discouraging;  more  neglect,  mark- 
ed partiality,  and  down  right  abuse,  are  likely  to  take  place. 

Some  of  the  leading  advantages  of  their  being  brought  up  to- 
gether, are,  that  they  may  know  one  another,  and  become  inti- 
mately acquainted,  and  be  united  together  in  strong  and  still 
Stronger  bonds  of  affection,  and  thus  be  prepared  and  inclined  to 
assist  one  another  as  they  grow  up,  and  after  they  are  grown,  and 
even  after  they  are  separated  and  settled  in  life,  having  the  same 
habits  manners  and  customs,  views,  sentiments  and  character. 
For  these  reasons,  generally  speaking,  (as  I  have  said)  t})ey  had 
better  be  raised  together.  If  pirents  are  spared  to  them,  the  most 
common  exceptions  to  this  rule,  are,  when  they  are  not  disposed 
to  discharge  their  duty  towards  them,  <>r  not  able  to  do  it.  It  is 
for  those  who  are  not  able  to  dp  it,. and  for  those  who  are  threaten- 
ed to  be  cut  off  and  taken  from'  them,  that  I  now  write.  I  have 
already  written  for  those  not  disposed  to  do  it,  the  vicious;  and 
also  for  their  children,  the  young  in  affliction.  This  however,  I 
have  done,  only  as  it  respects  their  being  diseased,  and  not  partic- 
ularly with  regard  to  the  want  of  a  disposition  in  parents  to  dis- 
charge their  duty  to  their  children,  nor  with  regard  to  children's 
being  bereaved  of  their  pr^rents.  On  these  points  I  have  not,  nor 
do  I  intend  to  enlarge.  My  plan  was,  more  particularly  to  attend 
to  those  afflictions  which  consist  in  actual  diseases  of  the  body, 
and  those  distresses  of  the  mind  which  naturally  arise  from  such 
diseases.  I  cannot  refrain,  however,  fiom  saying  a  word  to  all 
those  bereaved  of  near  and  dear  relations  or  friends,  particularly 
to  young  people  and  children.  Dear  friends,  however  much  you 
may  hove  depended  on,  or  been  attached  to  the  person  or  persons 
you  h=>ve  lost,  reflect  seriously  that  they  had  once  to  die,  sooner  or 
later,  according  to  the  appointments  of  j'Tod,  and  his  appointed 
time  hnd  come,  ihirrefue  tb'^y  had  to  obcjy  his  cill.  Just  give 
them  up  then,  remembering  and  being  very  sensible  that  you  too 
must  die,  hut  yo-i  ^re  nof  y*?^  d^nd,  and  h  ive  yet  vour  work  to  do 
on  ihe  earth,  and  perhaps  a  great  deal  more  now,  since  the  removal 


''HE    AFFLICTED.  151 

)f  your  friends. — It  is  one  of  the  best  things  that  you  can  do  to 
sooth  your  minds,  actively  to  engage  in  doing  tliis  work,  and 
doubtless  it  is  the  design  of  Providence  that  you  should  do  so. 
Do  not  look  then,  for  other  such  friend?  on  whom  to  depend,  for 
you  cannot  likely  find  such.  D«pend  therefore,  on  God  and  on 
yourselves,  and  in  all  things  and  in  all  respects,  do  your  duty,  and 
he  will  comfort  your  minds  and  reconcile  you  to  your  losses,  and 
make  up  your  losses  unto  you,  and  cause  all  things  to  go  well,  and 
end  well  with  you.  I  must  now  hasten  on  to  console  the  parent 
in  affliction. 

And  you  too,  my  fellow  mortal,  are  afflicted,  and  are  a  parent,  a 
father  or  a  mother,  having  charge  of  one,  or  more,  or  many  chil- 
dren, and  these  perhaps  small  and  helpless.  You  have  been  an  in- 
strument in  the  hands  of  God  of  bringing  them  into  existence. 
Hitherto  you  have  he^n\  devoted  to  take  care  of  them,  and  provide 
for  them;  and  whether  riches  or  poverty  was  your  lot,  you  found 
the  task  a  great  and  arduous  one;  but  now  a  disease  has  taken 
hold  of  you,  one  of  the  grc.nd  [>illiirs  of  iheir  support,  the  piop 
on  which  their  infVincy  was  lodged  and  urjpheld,  and  on  which 
they  still  depend. 

Before  you  were  married  you  had  yourself  to  take  care  of.  Af- 
ter the  birth  of  your  children,  in  them  you  recognized  yourself; 
yomself  enlarged  or  multiplied.  The  wants  of  your  original  self 
were  the  same  as  Ix^fore,  and  in  them  the  enlarged  part  of  yourself, 
your  wants  were  inore;<sed  according  to  their  numbers,  and  good  or 
b'  d  condition.  When  you  had  your  single  self  to  provide  for, 
y<*nr  wants  were  neither  few  nor  small,  but  after  the  births  of  your 
c-il''i!en,  these  were  greatly  increased.  Wjnts,  and  tri  Is,  and  sor- 
rows cluster  aroimd  them,  ;is  weil  as  around  yourself.  To  meet 
these  wants,  to  hear  them  ihrouah  these  iri;ils,  and  to  sooth  them 
under  these  sorrows,  employed  your  whole  time,  and  consumed 
all  vour  strength.  And  now  a  disease,  either  mo  e  or  less  violent 
aii'd  threat'  niuCT,  ha*  robly^d  you  of  your  strength,  and  forbidden 
y<  ij  ihus  to  employ  your  time.  Even  if  your  disease  is  slow  and 
con'inuoiis  or  chronic,  but  grent  enough  to  take  your  strength,  it 
is  no  inconsiderable  disease.  You  may  by  snch  a  diseise  be  ren- 
di-red  unable  to  do  any  thinsr  for  your  family  or  yourself,  except 
to  cfuitrive,  or  lay  plans.  Indeed  you  may  be  so  enfeebled,  and 
at  the  same  time  so  des'itute  as  to  be  un  ble  «n  jny  plans,  or  in 
any  way  to  provide  for  your  own  wants,  much  less  the  wants  of 
your  dear  little  children.  Furthermore,  your  disease  may  be  of 
sueh  a  character  as  to  threaten  to  take  you,  ^n  a  few  days,  from 
them,  never  more  to  lift  a  band  for  them,  or  see  their  faces  asi'in 
in  the  fl  sh.  The  aches  and  pains  which  your  disease  srives  vou, 
arQ  truly  sever©  and  very  trying,  no  doubt  you  consider  the  aiflicr 


152  CONSOLATIONS  OF 

iion  great  enough,  but  this  affliction  is  increased,  is  perhaps 
doubled  by  the  thought  of  your  dear  children.  O  my  little  ones!  you 
exclaim, my  dear  litdeones!  my  bahes!  my  babes!  wha'  will  become 
of  you?  vv])at  will  become  of  you?  young,  feeble,  tender,  exposed, 
helpless'  O  my  babes!  my  babes  what  will  become  of  you?  This 
feeling,  heart-moving  exclamation  of  youis,  my  friend,  is  the  voice 
©f  nature;  'lis  the  grief  of  a  parent's  heart,  a  parent's  heart  bleed- 
ing for  those  dear  lit.le  mortal,  immortal  beings  which  cry  and 
cling  around  your  emaciated  and  helpless  body,  and  look  for  that 
aid  and  attention  which  you  have  been  accustomed  to  give  them, 
INo  wonder  that  thoughts  and  feelings  for  them  should  greatly  add 
to  your  afflicUons.  The  great  question  is,  how  you  are  to  be  con- 
soled, if  it  be  but  a  little,  in  this  most  trying  condition.  My  dear 
friend,  though  your  case  is  truly  disconsolate,  and  has  much  in  it 
to  cause  desperation,  yet,  I  humbly  think  a  few  things  may  be 
said,  which  will  in  some  measure  sooth  your  aching  bleeding 
heart. 

The  first  advice  which  I  would  give  you,  is,  though  you  can  do 
but  little  for  them,  to  do  that  little.  If  you  can  barely  hold  up 
your  head  and  speak  a  few  words  at  a  time,  make  the  attempt,  for 
fhose  of  them  who  may  be  able  to  hear  and  understand.  K  you 
ii;  ve  many,  the  older  ones  must  be  old  enough  to  hear  and  feel 
for  themselves  and  for  their  dear  little  younger  brothers  and  sis- 
ters. Tell  them  all  those  things  about  being  good  children,  which 
long  before  this  you  ought  to"  have  often  told  them,  and  perhaps 
have.  Let  them  know,  as  clearly  and  fully  as  they  can  understand, 
their  true  condition  in  tliis  miserable  world,  and  how  to  make  the 
best  of  it.  Tell  them  what  it  is  that  makes  character  and  happi- 
ness. Show  them  fully  and  impress  it  upon  their  minds,  with 
the  tenderness,  and  affection,  and  weight  of  a  languishing  parent's 
words,  that  only  the  virtuous  and  the  piousare  useful  in  the  world, 
and  have  any  good  ground  to  expect  to  share  a  part  of  that  little 
^happiness  which  is  to  be  found  here  below.  Impress  them  as 
deeply  as  possible  with  a  sense  of  what  will  be  their  orphan,  and 
bereft,  and  exposed  condition,  if  you  are  never  restored  to  health 
and  strength  again,  to  provide  for  them,  and  to  educate  them. 
Do  your  utmost  to  impress  them  not  only  with  a  sense  of  their  loss 
in  your  being  brought  down,  Uut  with  the  absolute  necessi.ty  of 
their  depending  upon  themselves  to  supply  that  loss,  and  to  supply 
it  not  only  for  themselves,  but  for  their  younger  brothers  and  sis- 
ters. Tell  them  they  must  be  men  and  women  in  their  very  child- 
hood. They  must  i4nmediatelyleirn  to  contrive  and  manage  and 
work  for  themselves.  They  must  be  wise  in  their  youth,  and  very 
industrious.  They  must  go  to  work  as  if  they  would  starve  and 
perish  if  they  did  not  do  what  you,  their  parent,  heretofore  Iiave- 


aTTR  A.rPtICTE».  *^ 

xno*Tier1e«g.     Heart-rrnding!  heart-vencling  indeed!    No  wonder! 
no  wonder  you  are  disctmsoluie!     Nn  winder  your  heud  droops, 
vourhuid  fills,  and  vour  heart  sickens  and  sinks  withm  yon,r,nd 
Y(,u   feel  yourself,  at'  times,  aband.m.  d  hy  God  and  man,  and  by 
hope  iisel'f.     Genlle  mother,  tender,  aflection-^^e,  afflicted  mother, 
«'ho  not  swallowed  up  wi'h  overmuch  sorrow, "  great  is  ihep<n\er 
of  Cod,  and  it  is  ;;lw:<ys  guided  by  his  wisdom  and  goodness,  tie 
rmyeven  yet 'aise  yon  np  >nd  restore  you  to  health  and  stiength, 
and   «pare  you   to  go  in  and  out  before  yur  chddren,  and  long 
enough  to  see  them'  all  grown  ?nd  able  to  provide  for  themselves. 
This  is  quite  possible,  and  not  only  so,  but  a  very  common  thing. 
He  often  brings  i)ersons  low,  very  low,  and  mothers  too,  such  as 
you  are,  and  then  restores  them.  *  Tliis  he  does  to  show  them  how 
insignificv.nt  and  feeble  they  are,  and  how  entirely  they  depend  on 
hun      This  may  ne  his  purpose  witn  ymi.     Who  knows?  who  can 
tell^'     It  is  unknown  to  you,  neither  do  I  know.     1:  is  known  to 
God  alone      We  hops  he  will  restore  you;  and    you  too  should 
hope  and  'you  may  not  hope  in  vain.     Your  hoping  is  one  of  the 
best  moans  to  brin?  it  about.     But  though  it  is  your  duty  to  hope, 
it  is  uncertain  what  the  .  vent  will  be.  • 

If  when  we  are  in  heilth,  it  is  our  Wisdom  to  be  preparing  for, 
and 'standiuiT  ready  for  death,  how  much  more  is  it  your  wisdom 
and  duv  at""  this  time,  threatened,  threatened  to  an  alarming  de* 
ffree      O!  siy  you,  how  can  I  go?  howcin  T  go  and  leave  these 
precious  little  ones,  dready  fatherless,  and  to  be  motlierless  in  this 
wi>rld  of  trouble  and  sorrow?     Loving,  fond  mother,  should  it  be 
so-  consider  for  a  moment  that  you  will  not   be  the  first  mother 
that  was  ever  called  away  from  her  helpless  offspring.     Perhaps, 
as  vou  have  passed  throuah  life  you  have  had  frquent  opportuni- 
ties of  seeing  children  left  by  both  father  and  -nnther;  and  though 
you  observed  some  of  them  to  meet  m  my  difficulties,  and  sore  trials, 
and  much  abuse,  yet  yo'i  m^y  have  seen  others  who  got  along  ex- 
ceedingly well,  and  some  who  did  better  without  their  parents,  than 
they  likely  would  h  ive  done  with  them.     Some  who  grew  up  to  be 
men  and  women  of  superior  worth  and  no^e,  of  g^eat  respectability 
anil  influence,  and  of  uncommon  usefulness;  who,  m  ^11  probabili'y 
would  never  have  risen  to  such  eminence  if  their  paren  s  had  lived. 
One  reason  why  orplian  (  hildren  sometimes  do  so  w«'ll,  is,  that 
they   learn,  very  early  in  life,  to  depend  upon  their  own  energies 
and  efforts.     The  greatest  men  have  come  up  unassisted,  and  ma- 
ny of  the  most vir'uois  and  amialile  women  were  orphans  in  theif 
youth.     Another  reason    is,  they  were  not  injured  or  spoiled  by 
tl.H  excessive  indulgence  of  over-fond  parents.  From  these  reason* 
and  others  which  I  do  not  t^rrv  to  mention,  I  s.^y  they  not  nnf;o- 
^ueiuly  become  great  j  and  God,  in  mercy,  someumes  makes  ihem 


tS&  (?O?ra0LATI0N9  OE 

good  as  well  as  ^eat.  So  that  you  see  he  can  provide  fbr  theni 
without  pareii's,  and  cause  tliem  to  do  well,  both  ma  natural  and 
nior.d  poin-  of  view,  llo  can  in  the  highest  s^m^e,  be  a  father  to 
the  fat  he  less,  acci»idiiiiif  to  his  promise.  And  in  uccordance  to 
what  i  hive  siid  above,  what  lie  does  y>r  thern  he  does  nuinly 
by  them.  When  he  removes  parents  he  docs  not  bless  the  father- 
less without  means.  He  will  put  them  into  the  h mds  of  other 
nien  and  women,  whom  he  will  use  as  instnnnents  to  take  care  of 
them  a  little  while,  lill  they  can  take  care  of  ihemsilves;  then  he 
will  use  their  own  instrunientali'y,  and  make  it  the  great  means  to 
advance  their  own  interest  and  h^ppinrss.  You  recollect  h(jw  he 
did  this  for  the  litile  infant  Mo^es;  in  wlut  minner  his  providence 
took  him  up«  ut  of  the  ark  of  i)ulri!shes,liidamfnigtlie  flags  by  the 
river'^s  brink;  and  hid  him  fiirhfully  nu  sed  in  his  iuf uicy,  even 
by  his  own  mother,  and  ably  ins^rucioH  in  his  rippr  y^ars,  and 
fin  illy  brought  on  to  be  the  g'eat  and  good  biw-giver  of  Israel. 
It  is  iiotsaid  in  vaint'ien, — "A  father  of  the  fatherless  and  a  Judge 
of  the  widows,  is  God,  in  his  holy  habitation."  Listen  to  the 
wor v!s  of  this  father  of  she  fithevless,  when  he  speiks  ^nd  says — 
**Be  lold  the  fowls  of  the  air  f  )r  they  sow  not,  neither  do  they 
reap,  nor  gather  into  barns;  yet  your  heaveViiy  father  feedeth 
them.  Ae  ye  no'  much  better  th  m  they?"  Are  not  your  child- 
Ten,  poor  afflicted  motlier,  better  than  the  fowls  of  thenir?  Fur- 
thermore, he  says — "Conside.r  the  lilies  of  the  field,  how  they 
grow;  they  toil  no%  nei'hnr  do  they  spiii :  and  yet  1  say  unto  you, 
that  even  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  w  iS  not  arriyed  like  one  of 
these.  Wherefore  if  (^od  so  clothe  the  grass  of  the  field,  which 
to-day  is,  and  t(j-morrow  isc^st  into  the  oven,  slmll  he  not  much 
more  clothe  you,  O  ye  of  lirtle  faiih."  And  will  he  not,  poor  dy-^ 
ing  mother,  clothe  your  tafherless  children  even  if  they  become 
motherless  too?  Jf  then,  it  is  your  lot  now  to  be  taken  away  from 
them,  as  you  are  dying,  let  these  words  of  tlieir  great  heavenly 
f  ither  fall  soothingly  u[)on  your  ear,  and  find  their  way  into  your 
}ir:uK — ''Leive  thy  Vathf^rless  children,  I  will  pre^eyve  them  alive.'* 
Do  tiiese  things,  and  you  w'll  h.ve  consolation  concerning  youf 
children,  in  y<mr  afflfctions  and  in  your  death.  1  would  now  s.  y 
a  wo'd  or  two  concerning  the  manner  in  which  you  siiould  leave 
tnem.  I  have  already  told  you  that  God  would  not  preserve  tirf  m 
alive  without  instruments  or  means,  though  he  could  if  he  would. 
AccoTdin;:lv.  the  b<  st  thing, that  yf>u  can  do  is  to  give  them  into 
tjie  h.nds  of  one  'or  more  of  your  best  friends,  who  you  think 
wdl  be  able  '^nd  disposed  to' do  belter  f.r  them  than  any  other 
person  or  persons.  Thus  leave  them  to  CJod  that  he  mny  preserve 
them  alive.  TJius  commit  them  into  the  hinds  of  their  henvcniy 
Irtlher,  the  great  God,  who  created  them  and  all  things  else,  afld 


THE     APJ^LtCTED^  153^ 

done  for  them.  Even  if  it  is  in  your  power  to  leave  them  wealth, 
you  should  strive  thus  to  impress  them  to  depend  upon  themselves;, 
lest  others  impose  upon  them  and  lake  their  wealth,  and  they 
fin  illy  come  to  starvation  and  ruin. 

But  above  all,  it  is  your  duty,  indisperrsably  incumbent  on  you, 
to  impress  them  with  the  great  and  all-impoitant  truth,  that  though 
y  u  be  taken  from  them,  yet  they  have  a  heavenly  Parent,  who  can 
be  disturbed  by  no  sickness  nor  calamity,  can  never  be  brought 
down,  nor  die,  nor  even  sleep.  "Behold  he  that  keepeth  Isruel 
shall  neither  slumber  nor  sleep.  The  Lord  is  thy  keeper."  Re* 
mind  them  most  affectionately,  of  the  beginning  of  the  Lord's 
prayer — ''Our  father  vi^hich  art  in  heaven."  Tell  them  what  the 
apostle  Siiys — "To  us  there  is  but  one  God  the  Father,  of  whom 
are  ali  things."  And  what  he  says  i»  another  place,  of  God— 
"I  will  be  a  Father  un^o  you  and  ye  shall  be  my  sons  and  daugh* 
ters,  sdith  the  J^ord  Almighty."  O  toll  them  of  their  great  heav- 
enly Parent,  with  a  feeling  heart,  with  tears  in  your  eyes,  with  all 
the  earnestness  of  a  dying  earthly  parent!  Point  ihem,  point 
them  to  their  heavenly  Father,  with  so  much  zeal  and  earnestness 
that  they  will  look  up  and  beheve  indeed  that  God  is  their  Father, 
and  that  tliough  >hey  cannot  see  him,  yet  he  sees  them  at  all 
times,  and  will  watch  over  them  and  keep  them,  if  they  continually 
trust  in  him,  and  feel  themselves  to  be  his  sons  and  daughters. 
Exhort  them  wi'h  all  your  heart  to  shun  idleness,  and  all  kind  of 
bad  words  and  evil  ways,  and  to  treat  all  persons  with  the  respect 
due  unto  them,  and  to  be  very  kind  unto  all,  but  especially  unto 
one  another.  Persuade  and  beg  them  never  to  quarrel  among 
themselves,  but  to  love  one  another  most  tenderly  and  affection- 
ately, and  to  do  every  thing  that  they  can  to  serve  and  help  one 
another. 

Thus  much  you  can  do  for  your  children,  even  if  5'ou  are  very 
low  and  feeble. 

Again,  it  will  he  another  great  source  of  consolation  to  you,  if 
your  companion  is  alive  and  well,  and  able  to  go  in  and  out  before 
the  children  of  you  both,  the  dear  pledges  of  your  love.  This 
will  be  the  greatest  earthly  source  of  consolition  tkit  will  likely 
rise  up  to  your  view,  from  any  quarter  whatever.  It  ought  to  do  a 
greM  deal  towards  calminfj,  and  soothing,  and  consoling  your  anx- 
ious aching  heart.  Great,  great  is  the  wisdom  of  God,  and  his 
goodness  too,  and  thesf^  appear  very  strikingly  in  the  creation  of 
mankind;  "'male  and  female  createcl  he  them."  This  was  his 
p!in  to  mike  them  fruitful  to  multiply  and  replenish  the  earth, 
and  si^hdue  it.  A  plan  all  over  full  of  wisdom  and  goodness, 
sjid  admivablv  calc!il  ited  to  accomplish  its  great  end,  the  increase 
»nd  hcippiness  of  mankind.     I  do  not  say   that  God  fould  Rft 

18* 


154  CONSOLATIO??g  0I< 

have  nrmde  them  social  beings  wihout  making  them  male  and 
female,  but  1  do  say  that  by  unking  them  so,  he  has  ably  and 
wonderfully  secured  to  them  a  social  nature,  and  made  socie  y 
their  natural  state,  with  all  its  hapjiy  consequences. 

Accordingly,  in  this  wcrld  of  innumerable  ditficullies,  mankind 
are  not  propagated  by  single,  lonely  unassisted  individuals,  hut 
bv  pans,  by  a  father  and  mother.  The  grent  \vr»rk  of  providing 
for,  and  rearing,  and  educating  children,  is  committed  to  ihe  joint 
counsel  and  elibrts  of  two. 

Is  one  by  nature  not  as  able  in  mind  or  in  body  as  the  other, 
the  children  will  depend  more  upon  the  abler.  Is  one  diseased  or 
cripled,  C)r  in  any  way  disabled,  they  lo^A  with  hope  to  the  other. 
Is  one  cutoff  by  the  great  destroyer  death,  the  other  may  be  left 
to  be  tbeir  friend  and  helper.  These  are  the  instruments,  or 
means,  which  (>od  has  provided  for  the  bringing  into  existence, 
and  for  the  reariiig,  and  defending,  and  supporting,  and  counsel- 
ing, and  encouraging,  and  coinfor'ing,  and  educating  generation 
after  generation.  But,  as  1  have  hinted;  in  his  righteous  sover- 
eignty, it  sometimes  pleases  him  to  disable  one  or  both  of  them; 
sometimes  to  cut  off  one,  yea,  sometimes  to  cut  off  both.  And 
you  are  one  of  those  instruments,  and  it  may  be  your  case  is  an 
extreme  one.  Perhaps  you  ane  a  widow,  who  in  the  days  of  your 
husband,  had  great  ditiiculties  to  encoui;ter,  in  this  great  work  of 
rearing  children,  notwithstanding  all  the  help  he  could  give  you, 
^\hen  he  was  called  away  the  whole  burden  came  up-n  Vf>". 
Tou  felt  like  being  crushed  to  the  earth  under  it,  and  it  has  indeed 
been  a  heavy  burden  upon  you;  nevertheless  y(ni  have  struggled 
along  under  it  up  to  the  present  lirne,  and  struggled  so  constantly 
and  futhfully  as  to  have  been  successful  in  providing  something 
for  them  and  in  keeping  them  together  even  till  now.  But,  times 
out  of  number,  did  you  say  to  yourself, — '*h;ird  is  the  task,  hard, 
hard  indeed  is  the  task!  You  thought  it  altogether  hard  enou/2h, 
but  it  seems  it  has  pleased  God  to  add  to  it,  by  afflicting  you,  and 
threatening  to  take  you  away  fn  m  this  world;  fiom  all  your  deal 
fjiend?,  and  from  what  are  denrest  of  all  to  you,  your  children, 
your  truly  dear  little  ones.  Ptior  afflicted  mother,  I  must  ac- 
knowledge your  case  to  be  an  extreme  one  indeed,  one  of  tlie 
most  tryitig  *Mhat  flesh  is  .h*Mr  to."  A  multiplicity  of  ills  have 
gathered  around  you,  and  settled  upon  you.  You,  in  the  days  of 
your  husband's  life,  at  best,  the  wea'^pr  vessel ;  he  cut  off  frf  m  you 
and  gone;  you  left  a  helpless  woman,  with  ch  Idren  still  more  help- 
less, and  to  complete  the  whole,  a  disease  preying  upon  you,  and 
fendering  you  more  helpless  still,  yea,  bringing  you  down  upon 
that  bed  where  you  now  lie;  and  threateninu,  ere  h^nj?,  to  m:d<e 
the  cold  grave  your  bed,  and  your  children,  already  fatherless;* 


TIIE   AFFLICTED. 


157 


^vho  upholds  all  things,  and  is  able  to  preserve  fatherless  and  moth- 
erless children  -ilive.  Y^a,  and  to  prolong  their  liv^is,  and  to  bless 
them  nbundantly,  an  i  make  them  greater,  and  better,  and  happier 
than  their  parents  were. 

J  have  now  said  all  I  expect  to  say  to  you  to  console  you,  con- 
oerning  your  children;  but  I  would  most  serio  :sly  inquire  of  you 
how  you  can  do  the  things  that  I   have  advised  you  to  do,  in  in- 
structing them,  and  impressing  them  with  a  sense  of  their  condi- 
tion and  their  duty,  and  in  coramittins  them  to  God,  if  you  h^ve 
not  yet  committed  yourself  to  God?  If,  neither  in  the  days  of 
your"  youth,  nor  in  trie  days  of  your  husband,  nor  in  the  days  of 
your  widowhood,  nor  even  now  in  the  days  and  hours  of  your  af- 
fliction, and  feebleness,  and  nearness  to  death,  you  have  not  given 
yourself  away  to  the  great  father  of  all,  to  take  care  of  you,  as 
you  wish  him  to  take  Carv  of  your  children;  if  you  have  not  be- 
come in  all  respects  a  christian.     Are  you  more  deeply  concerned 
for  your  children  < ban  for  yonrse>lf?  Do  you  love  them  more  than 
you' love  yourself?     Is  it  no  matter  what  becomes  of  you  m  eter- 
ni»y,if  you  are  so  much  concerned  for  their  temporal  \yell-being, 
or  porhnps  mainly  for  their  temporal  condition,  v^hile  in  a   oreat 
measure  you   overlook  their  spiritual   and  eternal  concerns?     If 
they  be  spared  alive  and  provided  for,  and  do  well  on  the  earth 
for  a  few  vears,  is  it  no  matter  whether  you  go  down  to  hell  for 
eve»  or  not?     Have  you  thought  of  their  bodies  and  your  own  body 
so  constantly  and  exclusively,  as  to  forget  and  neglect  your  own  im- 
dyinff  and  imperishable  soul  ?     Have  you  not  yet,  up  to  this  trying 
and  sorrowful  moment,  been  made  to  see  the  wants  of  your  soul, 
and  the  dangers  to  which  it  is  exposed?     Have  you  never  had  a 
discovery  of^'your  soul's  real  condition,  and  been  enabled  to  sec 
it  as  God  seps  it  ?     O  my  dear  female  fellow  mortal,  dyi  ng  mother, 
have  you  never  discovered,  and  known,  and  felt  yourself  to  be  a 
sinner  in  the  sight  of  God,  sru'lty,  guilty,  and  exposed  to  his  just 
and  eternal   venoeance;  and  have  you  not  further  discovered  and 
fully  believed— "'hat  it  is  a  faithful  saying  and  worthy  of  all  ac- 
ceptation that  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners?'^ 
Hive  you  not  seen  your  need  of  this  great  Mediator  and  Saviour, 
and  fled  to  him  as  a  shelter  from  the  comina  storm  of  divine  ven- 
oeance, and  for  your  soul's  eternal  salvation?     If  not,    if  not,  all 
That  I  have  said  to  othr^rs  I  now, say  to  you,  in  one  word— "flee 
from  the  wrath  to  come— lay  holrPon  eternal  life."     Your  time  is 
short,  vou    cannot  do  it    ore  moment  loo  soon.     Do  so  if  vou 
wouH Obtain  eveilaslins   consolation  for  yourself.     And   while 
you  are  handirig  your  children  out  of  your  feeble  dying  arms,  into 
tJjQ  hands  of  their  heavenly  father,  comnjit  your  own  spirit  t<s 


58    .  CpiS'SOLATIONS  OF 

him  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  the  only  Mediator  between 
God  and  man,  and  the  Saviour  of  the  souls  of  men. 
Feb.  Qih.  1830. 


FOR  THE  RICH,  IN  AFFLICTION. 

I  next  direct  my  attention  to  the  rich  who  may  be  in  affliction. 
The  great  fact  in  history  that  there  have  always  been,  and  are  now, 
poor  and  rich,  arises  out  of  the  nature  of  man,  out  of  their  differ- 
ent dispositions  and  different  abilities.  A  few,  whose  lives  hive 
been  long,  have  acquired  riches  by  hard  labor,  industry  and  econo- 
my. Some  become  rich  by  honest,  and  uprigiit,  and  useful,  and 
pr-jise-worthy  commerce,  f-iir  dealing  or  trading.  Others  by  the 
rise  of  property.  Others  inhciit  riches;  andn(.'r  a  few  get  a  great 
deal  of  property  into  their  hands  by  dishonest  dealing  of  one  sort 
or  another,  or  by  fraudulent  speculation. 

Ours  is  a  republicin  government,  and  from  the  very  nature  of 
such  government,  tl)e  means  and  f;!cililies  of  acquiring  property 
are  more  in  the  reach  of  every  memher  o^  the  community,  thtn  in 
kingly,  imperi  J,  aristocratic,  or  des])otic  governmenrs.  Accord- 
ingly, in  our  beloved  country,  p'operty  is  to  be  found  more  equr.lly 
distributed  throughout  thegre.it  body  of  the  people,  th m  in  coun- 
tries under  such  government's,  and  it  takes  less  of  it  to  give  a  min 
the  name  of  a  rich  mm.  The  rich  are  thcrefere  very  numnn^is; 
and  as  they  are h able  to  calamities  diseases  and  death,  in  like  hj  in- 
ner with  all  other  persons,  ihe  number  of  afflicted  among  thein 
vill  be  in  proportion  to  their  own  u'luiher.  In  writing  then,  for 
this  part  of  the  comtnunity,  I  write  tor  no  small  part  of  the  whole. 

It  now  falls  to  my  lot,  and  becomes  my  duty  to  visit  you  in.  your 
afflictions,  my  fellow  mortal.  Accordingly  f  have  come,  and  am 
hero  present  in  your  room.  I  find  you  in  the  midst  of  the  good 
th  nL^s  of  this  life.  Yon  have. food  and  r;.iment;  and  not  only 
f,>  (1,  but  much  foMd  and  many  changes  of  r:iiment.  You  aic 
sn'onnd^d  with  the  rich  pr<!vision«,  and  superahounding  bounties 
of  Providence;  at  all  (^f  which  you  cnn  look-ind  call  them  y«>iir  own. 
You  have  ^'fruits  and  much  good*^  l.iid  up  for  in-ny  yews."  You 
h^ve  also  treasnres  of  silver  and  trei-sHres  of  gold;  your  coffers  or 
cli^^sts^ontnin  alarrre  amonnt.  ♦But  Jhcseare  not  ;ill.  You  have 
h^'O,  as  I  now  j«ee  with  my  own  eye?,  n  greiit  house  with  many 
ou'-hoMse^,  a  splendid  minsion  witii  its  convenient  ajip'trtenances 
and  append  iges;  with  its  apnr'rnen*",  rooms,  h  lis  and  fnrnit«ire. 
All  -he  itpptratns,  the  uteos'ls  nnd  fiiTn-tute  of  yonr  house  are  in 
Conformity  to  the  house  itsell,  convenient  and  grand^  many  of 


TU£   AFPLICTKD.  159 

ihem  glittering  with  splendor.  Your  table  furniture  is  of  the 
most  costly  kind,  of  the  best  materials  and  ino3t  beautifully  orna- 
mented. Your  mirrors  or  looking-glasses,  are  bro;id,  ond  long  as 
men  and  women,  and  gilt  with  gold.  Your  floors  are  elegantly 
carpeted,  and  walls  as  elegantly  papered  and  adorned  with  much 
carved  work.  There  too,  are  your  easy-backed,  soff  cushioned, 
"accomplished  sofas,"  fixed  on  wheels  to  move  whiiher  your 
judgment  may  dictate,  or  your  fancy  prompt.  And  here  is  your 
"bed  decked  with  coverings  of  tapestry,  with  carved  works,  with 
fine  linen,"  and  filled  with  the  softest  down.  And  I  observe  all 
these  things  around  you  to  he  as  clean  as  skilful  hands  with  much 
labor  can  make  them.  Moreover,  you  have  as  many  domestics 
either  servants  or  hirelings  as  you  wish.  And  as  it  is  true  '4hat 
wealth  maketh  many  friends,  but  the  poor  is  separated  from  his 
neighbor,"  you  have  many  friends.  Thus  I  find  you  in  the  midst 
of  all  this  abundance,  this  splendor,  these  domestics  and  these 
friends.  Your  compHcated  and  extensive  affairs  you  have  been 
accustomed  to  superintend  and  direct  hitherto.  You  were  a  per- 
son having  authority;  to  one  you  said  go  and  he  went;  to  another 
Gome  and  he  came;  to  a  third  do  this  and  he  did  it.  You 
appeared  with  the  full  glow  of  he  1th  upon  your  countenance, 
moving  from  place  to  place  with  activity  and  strength.  Not  un- 
frequently  yo'j  cauijht  hold  of  the  instruments  in  the  hands  of 
those  under  your  authority,  and  witJi  uncommon  expertness,  ra- 
pidity, skill  and  strength,  showed  them  not  only  how  to  do  their 
work  well,  but  rapidly  t.>o.  fn  short,  wiJh  g^eat  ability  and  suc- 
cess you  stood  at  the  bead  of  a  very  large  ;ind  difDcult  concern. 
But  instead  of  finding  you  this  day  at  the  head  of  this  concern, 
standing  or  moving  with  th^it  health,  and  streniith,  and  activity  in 
which  you  have  heretofore  so  much  exulted,  I  find  you  checked, 
stopped,  and  prostrated  by  disease.  You,  now,  like  all  others  in 
afflic-ion,  need  consolation.  Does  the  poor  person  in  affliction 
need  consolation?  so  do  you.  But  it  is  possible  tliat  the  poor 
prrsrtn,  af'er  all,  may  not  be  so  needy  as  yotirseU'.  This  depends 
upon  the  state  of  things  within  you  both.  It  depends  upon  inter- 
nal riches.  You  have  external  nches,  the  poc*r  person  has  not, 
but  you  may  have  internal  r'Vhes,  and  if  he  has,  nd  you  have  no 
riches  within,  he  in  affliction,  has  th*^  advantajreof  you,  isnothmg 
like  as  ne^dv  as  you  are.  Bit  if  y.m  have,  in  iddition  to  yojir 
external  liches,  intern-^l  riches,  f  cm  ?:ee  no  reason  why  )'^';u  may 
not  h;ive  grea'ly  tlieavlv-.ntage  of  him.  If  you  aie  thus  rich  with- 
out and  within,  it  appe  rs  to  me  that  vou  h;:ve  greater  ad  vant^aes 
thtiv.  eJ'her  charicter  for  wliom  I  have  yet  wr.tten  or  in-end  to 
wri'r;  va,  irreriter  advantnn^^s  than  any  <'h'TiCter  thit  can  be 
found  among  the  sons  and  daughlers  of  affliction  and  sorrow. 


160  CONSOLATIONS  OF 

By  infernal  riches  I  mean  a  good  character;  and  by  a  good 
character  1  mean  all  that  is  excellent  in  a  moral  point  of  view, 
from  I  he  least  good  morsl  trait,  disposition,  or  act,  up  to  the  highest 
that  is  attainalile  by  man  here  1x^1  ow.  I  mean  those  riches  which 
consist  in  knowledge  and  wisdom,  in  faith  and  love,  ii.  holiness 
and  hope,  in  patience,  and  resignation.  I  mean  what  I  have 
described  at  length,  in  the  tirst  part  of  my  book,  (viz:)  the  inter- 
nal riches  of  a  true  christian  Jf  you  possess  these  in  connection 
with  your  extevnr-l  riches  which  1  have  just  described,  y;»u  are 
rich  indeed,  and  rich  even  in  your  afflictions;  yea  more,  will  be 
rich  even  in  your  death  and  in  eternity.  But  though  you  may  be 
thus  doubly  rich,  and  rich  to  the  furthest  extent  in  both  these 
kind  of  riches,  nevertheless  you  may  be  disconsolate  and  need 
consolation.  Neither  the  one  kind  of  riches  nor  the  other,  nor 
both  together,  can  remove  distressing  pains  and  sorrows,  and  do 
away  the  need  of  consolation  from  the  disconsolate  sons  and 
daughters  of  atHiction.  The  one  kind  can  do  much  move  than 
the  other,  vastly,  incomparably  more.  External  riches  can  do 
but  little,  internal  riches  can  do  very  much.  I  say  then,  if  you 
possess  internal  riches  as  well  as  external,  but  are  notwithstand- 
ing disconsolate,  in  your  afflictions,  all  I  can  present  to  you  I  have 
already  done,  in  the  two  first  parts  of  my  book.  To  the  first  or 
second  part  according  as  your  disease  may  be,  rapid  or  chronic,  I 
now  most  seriously  refer  you ;  if  you  humbly  and  confidently  think, 
and  satisfactorily  know,  upon  good  evidence,  that  you  do  possess 
these  internal  richfs;  in  other  words,  that  you  are  a  true  christian, 
you  may  find  much  there  to  console  you.  Every  variety  and  form 
of  consolation  thero  brought  to  view — every  consoling  thing,  and 
thought,  and  consideration  you  may  apply  and  appropriate  to 
yourself.  And  this  you  may  do  by  the  help  of  your  external 
riches,  to  the  greatest  advantage.  If  you  have  been  so  wise,  and 
so  resohite  and  happy,  as  to  put  your  external  riches  into  their 
place,  and  keep  them  there — if^  you  have  not  set  your  heart  su- 
premely upon  them — if  you  have  not  made  them  your  God-,  but 
used  them  as  your  temporal  and  temporary  servant,  they  have 
been  a  good  servant,  and  now  in  the  days  of  your  calamity,  and 
sorrow,  and  helplessness,  will  be  a  very  good  one.  If  your  af- 
flictions remain  long  on  you  they  will  supply  all  your  eariiily 
wants.  You  will  be  able  to  have  thar  food  which  is  the  most  suit- 
able— that  raiment  which  is  the  most  comfortable,  and  your  house 
dry  and  warm  in  winter,  and  well  aired  in  summer,  and  always 
clean.  You  will  be  able  to  have  the  attention  of  the  best  doctors, 
and  all  that  nursing  and  waiting  upon  which  can  do  you  any  good. 
Your  riches  u'ill  enable  you  to  take  long  journeys  or  clrmge  your 
climate  if  that  is  thought  best,  and  they  will  always  enable  you. 


i«E     AFFLICTED.  i6J 

where  ever  you  may  be,  to  have  many  friends  aV)Out  you.  Again, 
if  your  disease  is  of  the  violent  and  raging  kind,  and  should  it 
actu  illy  lake  you  out  of  the  world  in  a  very  short  titne.  your 
riches  will  enable  you  to  hive  all  that  help  which  the  earth  affords. 
They  will  hand  you  out  of  the  world  moregonily  and  ujore  easi- 
ly, ihan  the  cold'h mds  of  poverty  hand  out  the  poor.  All  these 
things  they  may  do  for  yon  accordiiig  to  your  need. 

On  the  oihei-  hand  if  you  have  heen  so  unwise,  irresolute  and 
nnhippy,  as  to  let  your  external  riches  get  out  of  their  place,  and 
rem-.onso,  and  if  they  are.it  this  moment  out  of  their  proper  place, 
thev  no  doubt  have  alreao'y  done  you  murh  injury,  are  doing  it 
fjow,  and  if  you  do  not  succeed  in  getting  thorn  into  their  place, 
will  liiially  do  you  an  irrepjra!)le  and  endless  evil.  Perhaps, 
h<  vvever,  you  are  at  a  loss  to  know  what  I  mean  by  your  riches 
being  out  of  their  pi  ce.  If  so,  I  will  attempt  lo  give  you  a  little 
more  clear  and  full  cxplaiiation.  If  your  riches  are  out  of  their 
plrKC,  they  got  so,  in  something  like  the  following  manner. 

You  discovered  yourself  to  be  in  a  world  in  whidh  food  was 
absolutely  nece-sary  to  sustain  life.  You  saw  that  you  must  ex- 
ert yourself  and  obtain  it,  or  perish  with  hunger.  Further,  5'ou 
f()und  that  proper  elothingand  a  suitable  covert  from  the  weather 
and  storm,  greitly  conduced  to  your  health  and  comfort.  There- 
fore you  devoted  yourself,  body  and  soul,  to  get  these  things;  and 
perh^ips  so  unreservedly,  that  vou  did  not  allow  yourself  any  time 
even  to  enjoy  the  society  of  friends;  much  less  to  improve  your 
mind  by  L-ainma  us  'ful  knowledije,  or  attending  to  any  other  of 
the  high  concerns  of  your  immortal  soul. 

All  other  o'  jects  dwindled  down  to  a  point ,  to  a  shadow,  to  nothing. 
You  overlooked  them,  and  as  you  looked  around  and  frward,  riches, 
riches  filled  the  whole  compass  of  your  view.  Riches,  riches 
■  were  the  great,  grand,  absorbing  object,  forward  to  which 
yoj  looked  with  eager,  intense  penetration ;  and  strided  with  long 
^1  d  rapid  strides;  and  grr.ppled  and  grasped  with  all  your  powe'*s. 
You,  with  others,  gained  the  name  of  "seeing  far  into  the  mill- 
gtone."  in  laying  plans,  and  of  "making  every  edge  cm"  in  execu- 
ting thern.  This  business  of  getting  rich  employed  your  whole 
time,  aud  exhausted  all  your  energies.  It  called  into  perpetual 
and  vigorous  action,  your  head,  your  hands  and  your  heart.  You 
thoucjiit  of  it  by  day,  and  weie  enfraged  and  overwhelmed  in  it, 
un'il  the  dirkness  of  the  nigh^,  and  the  lassitude  or  weiriness  of 
nature,  he.it  you.  f>om  it,  and  caused  you  to  sink  in  sleep;  and 
your  sleep  i  S'^lf  was  not  sound  and  undisturbed  by  the  darlin^f 
pursuit  of  vour  heart.  Riche=,  richer  came  up  before  you,  in  the 
vis'^ns  and  d' ?  !ms  of  the  night.  Thus  t'ey  occupied  your  whole 
soul  by  day  and  by  night;  and  you  drove  on  until  you  acquired 

14 


162  CONSOLATIONS  OF 

and  accumulated  more  than  enough  to  furnish  yourself  and  all. 
those  dependent  upon  you,  with  food  and  raiment,  house  and 
home  and  every  convenience  during  your  ovi'n  and  their  lifetime. 
And  in  the  language  of  an  ancient  satirist,  you  held  all  you  got, 
with  fist,  and  tooth,  and  nail.  As  the  every  where,  and  every  day 
proverb  is  true — "the  more  you  have  the  more  you  want,"  so 
it  was  with  you.  The  scriptures  were  verified — "he  that  loveth 
silver  shall  not  be  satisfied  with  silver,  nor  he  that  loveth  abundance 
with  increase."  When  you  had  arrived  at  this  elevated  stand,  a 
new  demand  for  riches,  besides  the  want  of  food  and  raiment, 
house  and  home,  with  equal  if  not  increased  urgency,  presented 
itself  to  you,  and  pressed  itself  upon  you.  A  new  and  higher 
flame  of  ambition  was  kindled,  and  flamed  in  your  breast.  This 
was  the  desire  of  grandeur,  pomp  and  show.  You  chided  your- 
self for  sloth  and  stupidity,  bid  your  energies  awake,  Inickled  on 
the  harness  anew,  and  braced  yourself  with  redoubled  force,  to 
the  far  more  arduous  and  greater  task,  of  putting  a  polish  and 
|lat^  upon  all  your  possessions,  so  that  the  eyes  of  all  beholders 
might  be  dazzled,  and  their  inquiries  extorted,  "whose  are  these 
glittering  possessions?  who  lives  here?" 

Thus  you  have  labored  and  toiled,  striven  and  struggled,  till 
you  have  got  every  thing  about  you  most  grand  and  splendid,  in  the 
finest  paintings  and  colorings,  as  1  have  already  hinted.     Those 
who   visited   you   beheld  in  your   residence,  something  like  an 
earthly  palace.     And  when  you  went  out  your  dress  was  fine  and 
elegant, 'twas  gorgeous  apparel,  'twas  surpassed  by  none.     When 
you  chose,  you  would  be  drawn  by  the  noblest  horse  or  hoises,  in 
a  gig,  chariot  or  carriage,  fixed  on  the  easiest  springs,  cushioned 
and  curtained  in  the  highest  style,  and  both  it  and  the  harness 
with  their  trappings,  plated  so  as  to  be  all  over  white  with  silver, 
or  it  may  be   yellow   with  gold.     In  all  this  magnificence  and 
earthly  glory,  you  were  able  to  appear  both  at  home  and  abroad. 
Thus  you  were  permitted  to  be  successful,  anil  accomplish  your 
proud  and   aspiring  projects;  and  when  yoii  had  arrived  at  this 
pitch,  you  were  pleased,  elated,  proud.     You  had  such  fe^^lings  as 
the  great  king  Nebuchadnezzar  had,  when  he  walked  in  the  palace 
of  the  kingdom  of  Babylon. — "The  king  spake  and   said,  is  not 
tliis  great  Bibylon,  that  1  have  built  for  the  house  of  the  king- 
dom Hy  the  mioht  of  my  power,  and  for  the  honor  of  my  majes- 
ty?"    Thus  you    felt   when  you  looked  upon  your  superb  and 
splendid   builtlin«T.,  with  all  their  appendages,  and  your  rich  and 
costly  equipage;  and   thought  of  all  the  bank  notes  and  dollars 
which  were  in  your  possessi.  n.     It  was  >.  feeling  of  selt"  sufricien- 
cy  and  independence;  you  exulted  in  'he  "might  of  vour  power, 
and  in  the  honor  of  your  majf?sty."     You  had  these  riches;  you 


XHE   AFFLICTED.  163 

aot  them  yourself;  yoa  thanked  no  body,  nor  any  being  for  them. 
You  were  proud  of  them,  and  you  loved  them  with  all  your  heart. 
There  was  nothing,  nor  any  being  either  visible  or  invisible,  that 
YOU  loved  so  strongly  as  these  your  oxternal  riches.  They  were 
your  idol. — They  were  your  God;  and  thus  they  got  out  of  their 
place  entirely,  altogeilier  out  of  their  place.  And,  by  this  mourn- 
ful truth,  we  are  enabled  to  come  to  the  knowledge,  and  the  cer 
tain  and  uiiquestion.ible  knowledge  too,  of  another  truth  still 
more  mournful.  This  truth,  which  we  can  know  with  so  much 
certainty,  is  the  dreadful  and  alarming  fact,  that,  your  external 
riches  being  thus  out  of  place,  you  are  destitute  of  internal  riches. 
Your  whole  interior,  your  whole  soul  is  void  of  those  virtues, 
those  moral  excellencies,  which  enrich,  adorn,  ennoble  and  bless 
the  soul.  Which  make  the  human  being  superior  to  all  other  an- 
imals of  the  earth;  and  the  want  of  which  makes  him  inferior  to 
tliemall.  Alas!  alas!  you  have  spent  all  your  time  and  wasted 
all  your  strength  in  providing  for  your  body,  which  at  best  can 
only  li\e  a  short  lifetime;  and  concerning  which,  the  words  of 
the  poet  are  strictly  true,  when  he  siys — ^*man  wants  but  little, 
nor  wants  that  little  long."  Yea  indeed,  your  folly  has  even  been 
greater.  You  h  ive  been  so  foolish,  so  mad,  as  to  attempt  to  feed 
your  soul,  your  spirit,  with  the  coarse  food  which  was  made  for 
your  body.  You  have  shiven  with  nil  your  energies,  to  cram  nnd 
till,  and  safiate  your  immortal  soul  with  the  material,  crude  and 
gross  husks,  and  trasli  of  the  earth.  And  the  mistake  you  have 
recei  /ed  within  yourself,  leanness  of  so  il,  empMness  of  soul;  'tis 
all  hollow  wi'hin,  m  aching  void.  'I'wys  made  to  be  fed  with 
heavenly,  spiritual  food,  such  as  angels  use,  such  as  religion  brings; 
but  this  you  have  neither  sought  nor  found. 

And  now,  a  cruel  disease  has  t  iken  hold  of  you,  with  a  strong, 
unyi'^lding,  merciless  grasp.  Ii  has  alreidy  drawn  you  down 
from  your  lofy  elevaticm  of  strengtli  and  glory;  and  alaimingly 
threatens  todng  you  stilliower,  enven  into  the  narrow  precincts 
of  the  cold,silen%  gloomy  grave.  This  is  your  unhappy  condi- 
tion this  day,  and  it  is  my  painful  lot  to  find  you  in  this  condition. 
To  all  hum  m  appearance  the  grave  not  mmy  steps  before  you, 
a.)  I  all  the  p  apirition  which  vo*i  hive  for  it,  consists  in  your  out- 
ward wealth,  •A'hich  is  worse  than  no  preparation  at  all.  Do  you 
now  look  around  upon  your  possessions  and  treasures,  and  thmk 
of  employing  some-doctov  of  surpassing  and  unequalled  eminence, 
and  of  oriving  him  a  very  liberal  compensition  if  he  will  cure  you, 
even  as  much  as  he  may  choose  to  ask?  Such  a  one  is  a  man 
and  nothing  more.  He  did  not  give  you  life,  neither  can  he  pre- 
serve your  life.  Vain,  vain  then  nny  be  your  hope  from  this 
iource.     Your  possessions  and  treasures  may  avail  you  nothing, 


104'  CONSiJLAtlONS    OF 

Again,  do  you  think  of  employing  a  numerou;?  council  oF  th\; 
:iblest  physicians?  You  may  buy  their  wisdom,  aid  skill,  and 
xperience,  and  endeavors,  but  all  these  may  but  h  isten  your 
pace  to  the  dark  house  appointed  for  all  living.  If  doctors  cannot 
iielp  you,  none  of  the  men  of  power  can.  'Tis  >ain  to  apply  to 
princes  or  kings,  monarchs  or  potentates,  with  whole  nations  at 
their  command.  You  might  empty  your  treasures  into  theirs,  but 
they,  with  all  their  legions  and  armie",  could  not  beat  and  drive 
the  disease  from  you,  which  has  settled  and  flxed^  and  clinched 
its  hooked,  penetrating  and  rude  talons,  deep  into  your  mortal 
body.  Utterly  vain  then  will  be  your  attempts  to  moke  youv 
riclies  serve  you  in  this  way.  Being  disappointed  and  foiled  in  all 
these  hopes  and  expectations,  does  a  thought  come  into  your  head 
to  bribe  death?  Gold  never  did,  nor  ever  will  bribe  the  monster. 
He  hath  ever  laughed  at  a  bribe.  Seeing  the  folly  of  this,  does 
another  thought  rise  in  your  mind,  to  give  up  and  die,  3nd  take 
your  riches  along  with  you,  and  enjoy  them  in  the  world  to  which 
you  are  going?  A  sight  of  the  absurdity  and  impossibility  of  this, 
stares  you  in  the  fice  like  lightning,  and  a  sense  of  it  strikes  your 
mind  like  thunder.  You  see  in  aojoment,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye 
— *'that  you  brought  nothing  into  this  world  with  you,  and  it  is 
certain  you  can  take  nothing  out."  Being  again  utterly  foiled  in 
this,  does  it  occur  to  your  mind  that  God  his  all  power  to  rebuke 
and  remove  diseases,  and  restore  to  health,  and  prolong  life,  and 
peradventure  he  may  be  tempted  by  a  price?  Vainest  hoi)eof  all 
is  this.  There  is  no  price  in  your  possession  to  which  he  will 
look  for  a  moment.  Impious!  impious  thought!  to  suppose  the 
Deity  to  be  tempted  by  your  silver  and  gold. 

It  is  true,  that  the  Son  of  God  who  was  God,,  and  who  was  made 
flesh  and  dwelt  among  us,  did  cure  all  manner  of  diseases.  But 
it  is  also  true  that  he  never  received  a  price  for  doing  it  in  one 
single  instance.  Were  he  now  upon  the  earth,  and  even  here, 
your  gold  would  be  no  inducement  to  him  to  cure  and  restore 
you.  But  he  is  not  now  upon  tlie  earth,  neither  does  it  please 
God  in  these  days,  to  pertbrn^t  minculous  cures,  or  to  have  tliem 
performed  by  any  instruments  or  in  any  way.  Looking  in  this 
direction  then,  your  hopes  must  all  sicken,  and  lan^juish,  and  die, 
and  vanish.  You  will  be  shut  up  therefore,  to  the  one  only  course, 
if  the  disease  prove  iqp  strong  for  you;  and  that  is  the  onwirds 
course  which  leads  hence,  away  from  your  riches,  your  friends 
and  all  that  you  hold  dear,  into  the  eternal  world,  to  meet  your 
God  immediately,  and  on  the  resurrection  morn,  and  on  the  great 
day,  the  day  of  general  and  tinal  judgment.  But  you  are  not  ready  to 
go  into  the  presence  of  this  terrible  God,  this  august  and  solem» 
Judge.     You  are  rich  without,  but  not  within.     Your  soul  is  un- 


TIIE   AFFLICTED.  165' 

renewed,  unadorned,  wrapped  up  in  eartlily  riches  and  decora- 
tions, all  which  must  fall  from  about  you,  the  moment  you  start 
to  meet  this  awful  God.  And  do  you  now,  after  all,  with  the 
feelings  of  a  desperado,  look  around  once  more,  and  for  the  last 
time,  and  for  the  last  effort  upon  your  external  riches,  and  suffer 
a  fond  and  final  hope  to  rise  in  your  breast,  that  God  will  accept 
your  external  riches  for  internal  wealth?  That  he  will  admit  the 
exchange,  and  allow  you  to  buy  the  renewing  and  adorning  of 
your  soul,  the  new  creation,  so  as  to  be  a  new  creature,  by  the 
means  of  your  treasures  of  silver,  and  treasures  of  gold,  houses 
and  lancis,  and  your  cattle  upon  a  thousand  hills?  This  last  hope 
is  vainer  than  tha  vainest.  '-You  were  not  redeemed  with  corrup- 
tible things,  as  silver  and  gold;"  but  (if  at  all)  with  the  precious 
blood  of  Christ,  as  of  a  lamb  without  blemish  and  without  spot." 
Neither  can. you  be  renewed  in  any  other  way,  than  by  the  Spirit's 
application  of  this  precious  blood  to  your  soul,  io  '^cleanse  it  from 
all  sin."  There  is  no  other  possible  wiy  in  which  you  can  obtain 
internal  riches,  riches  withm.  This  is  in  short,  the  way  of  Chris- 
tianity, the  way  the  Bible  points  out.  1  say,  I  tell  you,  there  is 
no  other  way.  Vou  are  destitute  of  internal  riches.  You  are 
without  those  happy  traits  of  character,  those  important  moral 
qualities  and  qualifications,  without  which,  neither  you  nor  any 
other  human  being  can  meet  God  in  peace.  Without  which^, 
you  can  meet  him  in  no  otlier  way  than  as  an  avenging  Judge. 
This  way  of  Christianity,  this  way  through  Christ,  is  God's  way, 
his  only  way,  and  aU  the  way  he  will  allow  or  permit  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  mankind,  to  approach  him,  to  meet  him,  and  to  be 
happy  \;ith  him.  He  appointed  it  himself,  and  has  long  approved 
of  it.  It  is  the  "Kind's  high  way  of  holiness."  It  is  the  way  of 
salvation,  along  which  the  "ransomed  of  the  Lord  may  return  and 
come  to  Zion  with  songs  and  everlasting  joy  upon  their  heads." 
But  if  yon  aie  not  satisfied  with  this  wiy,  and  think  that  there 
either  his  been  another  and  better  way  found, or  that  there  can  be, 
and  that  even  you  can  do  it,,  if  you  are  not  satisfied  with  some  one 
of  the  past  discoveries  made  by  others,  I  would  like  to  know  "what 
that  way  is.  Whit  .re  the  ways,  dear  feeble  friend,  that  have  ever 
yet  been  discovered?  I  know  of  none  but  the  ways  of  idola.ry, 
in  some  one  of  its  thousand,  its  numberless  forms;  or  those 
wiys  which  are  corruptions  of  God's  way,  such  as  Mahomedan- 
ism.  if  you  choose,  and  settle  upon  some  one  of  the  many  ways 
of  ancient  or  modern  idolatry,  what  sjood  will  it  do  you?  What, 
internal  riches  can  you  thereby  obtain?  what  safe  preparation  to 
meet  the  true  God?  What  did  the  ancient  heathens  gain,  who 
worshipped  g(jds  of  their  own  formation,  gods  of  carved  wood, 
gods  of  molten  silver  or  molten  gold,  gods  of  the  animals,  from 

14* 


166  CONSOLATIONS   dP 

the  ichneumon  and  the  cat,  up  to  the  bull;  or  gods  of  the  hosts 
of  heaven,  the  san,   moon   and   stars;  or  great  men  for  gods,  or 
gods  of  their  imagination,  that   vveie  not  only  no  gods,  but  noth- 
ing at  all?     What  did    they  gain  I    say?  what  internal  richest 
what  prepiiraiion  to  meet  ihe  God  that  made  the  heavens  and  the 
earth,  the  true,  living  and  eternal  God?     It  is  impossible  for  you 
or  any  other  person  to  tell  vi'hat  they  gained,  except  it  was  an  in- 
crease of  sin,  and  iniquity,  and  degradation,  and  an  accumulation 
of  guilt.     And  modern  idolatry  can  do  no  better.     False  then, 
is  this  way,  false,  false,  and  leads  from  bad  to  worse,  and  from 
worse  to  utter  ruin.     And  what  better' can  mahomedanism  do? 
certainly  nothing.     It,    too,  'like  the  schemes  of  idolatry,  is  an 
invention  of  a  man,  to  fkid  out  the  way  to  be  rich  within,  the  way 
to  meet  God  in  peace  in  the  world  to  come,  which  way  was  so 
hidden  and  deep,  that  none  but  God  himself  could  find  it  out 
and  make  it  known.    Not  satisfied  then,  with  idolatry  or  mahom- 
edanism,  will  you  summon  all  your  powers  to  find  out  a  way  of 
your  own?     How  can  your  powers,  poor  feeble  creature,  accom- 
plish an  undertaking  so  great,  an  undertaking  under  which  a  vast 
multitude  of  the  ablest  men,  not  as  you  are  now,  but  in  good 
health,  with  full  vigor  of  body  and  mind,  yea,  having  superior 
minds,  have  staggered,  reeled,  and  fallen,  and  failed.     If  Seneca, 
Cato  and  Cicero,  Aristotle,  Plato  and  Socrates,  men  of  the  strong- 
est and  most  matured  intellect,  surrounded  by  the  most  exciting 
circumstances,  utterly  failed  to  discover  a  safe  way  to  meet  God  af- 
ter death,  and  were  but  idolaters  after  all,  what  can  you  in  your 
feebleness  do?     What  can  you  do,  who  have  spent  far  the  largest 
part  of  your  past  hfe  in  acquiring  riches?     What  have  you  learnt 
besides  the  dimensions  and  value  of  a  shilling  and  of  a  dollar? 
What  can  you  now  learn,  with  this  disease  upon  you,  and  in  the 
short  time  which  may  be  allowed  you?     If  the  heat l^n  v^orld 
had  years  after  years,  and  ages  after  ages  allowed  them,  to  discover 
and  learn  what  you  vainly  think  you  can  find  out  in  a  few  days, 
or  it  may  be  in  a  few  hours,  are  you  not  indeed  vain  and  presump- 
tuous?    Are  you  not  vain  and  presumptuous  in  the  highest  pos' 
sible  or   imaginable  degree,  to  think  that  you  can,  under  these 
circumstances,  discover  that  way,  which  as  I  have  said,  none  but 
God  himself  could  devise  or  find  out?    Certainly,. certainly  you 
muslbe,,  and  whether  you  see  and  believe  it  or  not,  you  are  thus 
vain   and  presumptuous;  and  it  is  true  that  "there  is  none  other 
name  under  heaven  given  among    men,"  whereby  you  must  be 
saved,"  but  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ  of  Nazareth.     "He  is  the 
way"  and  the  only  way,  "neither  is  there  salvation  in  any  other.^ 
He  is  God's  way.     Of  the  truth  of  this,  my  dear  diseased  fellow 
mortal,  I  am  deeply  sensible  and  fully  satisfied.     I  am  entirely 


THE    AFFLICTED.  1^ 

cdnviiiced,  and  very  confident,  that  if  you  do  not  receive  consola- 
tion, against  the  fears  of  death,  in  this  way,  you  will  receive  it  in 
no  way,  but  will  die  unconsolea  and  hopeless. 

What  has  the  infidel  world  done?  what  have  the^*a«^5  of  infi- 
delity done?  They  have  spent  their  strengti)  to  obscure  and  block 
up  this  way,  and  to  prevent  mankind  from  entering  in  thereat,  but 
have  never  discovered  another  to  which  t!iey  could  pc»int.  Their 
great  business  has  been,  to  pull  down  and  destroy,  nf»t  to  build  up. 
To  do  mischief,  not  to  do  good.  To  pull  down  and  put  out  him 
whom  God  hath  given  "before  the  face  of  all  people;  a  light  to 
lighten  the  Gentiles,  and  the  glory  of  his  people  Israel."  But 
they  have  never  discovered  another  light.  What  are  infidels  doing 
in  this  age?  what  will  they  ever  do?  what  can  they  do?  much 
evil,  no  good.  Neither  they  nor  their  principles  can  do  any  thing 
better  than  this,  for  the  poor  or  for  the  rich.  If  you  persist  in 
your  endeavors  to  discover  a  way  of  your  own,  by,  or  through 
whfch,  to  meet  God  in  peace,  you  will  but  increase  your  doubts 
and  darkness;  you  will  but  gather  clouds  and  darkness  around 
you,  and  every  effort  you  may  put  forth,  instead  of  beating  away 
those  clouds,  and  letting  light  in  upon  your  soul,  and  consolation 
witii  the  light,  will,  on  the  contrary,  thicken  the  darkness  that  is 
about  you,  and  multiply  and  magnify  your  disconsolate,  and  un- 
happy, and  hopeless  feelings. 

If  you  become  discouraged  in  your  attempls  to  discover  some 
high  and  safe  way  of  your  own,  to  meet  God  after  death — some 
grand  scheme — some  bold  and  able  plan,  you  v/ill  be  very  apt  to 
turn  your  thoughts,  and  your  feet  too,  to  the  way  of  morality. 
Nothing  is  more  common,  especially  with  the  rich.  But  the  way 
©f  morality  is  not  God's  way,  and  therefore  he  will  not  meet  you  in 
that  way,  and  receive  you,  and  welcome  you  home  to  his  rest.  I* 
mean  by  morality,  what  you  consider  your  good  deeds — your 
works  of  righteousness.  God  may  look  very  differently  upon  these 
good  deeds,  from  the  manner  in  which  you  look  upon  them.  You 
may  look  back  with  much  pleasure  and  self  complacency,  upon 
every  act  which  you  consider  to  have  been  good;  and  perhaps  in 
their  place,  and  in  a  certain  sense  they  were  good,  but  not  good 
for  the  purpose  to  which  you  wish  now  to  apply  them.  You  wish 
to  make  a  merit  of  them  by  which  to  be  accepted  of  God.  That 
is  to  say,  you  wish  to  meet  God  on  your  own  terms,  and  in  your 
own  way.  But  he  has  declared  that  you  shall  not,  that  you  can- 
not. He  has  ever  had  a  law  for  man  since  he  made  him.  You 
have  broken  that  law,  and  you  cannot  repair  it.  You  cannot  per- 
form the  works  that  if  re^juires.  "By  the  deeds  of  the  law  there 
sliall  no  flesh  be  justified  in  his  sight,""  "The  law  worketh  wrath." 
"A  man  is  not  justified  by  the  woiks  of  the  law,  but  by  the  faitfi 


168  OO^'S0LATI0NS  OP 

of  Jesus  Christ."  "As  many  as  are  of  the  works  of  the  law  are 
under  the  curse,  for  it  is  written,  cursed  is  every  one  that  coniin- 
ueth  not  in  all  things  that  are  written  in  the  book  of  the  law  to  do 
them."  "That  a  man  is  not  justified  by  the  law  in  the  sight  of 
God,  is  evident :  for  the  just  shall  live  by  faith."  "For  whosoever 
shall  keep  the  whole  law,  and  yet  offend  in  one  point  he  is  guilty  of 
all."  Christ  offended  in  no  point,  and  was  guilty  of  nothing. 
*'He  was  holy,  harmless,  undefiled,  and  separate  from  sinners." 
He  was  the  perfect  way.  'I'he  holiest  men  have  acknowledged 
themselves  sinners  and  unholy,  in  words  like  the  following,  which 
were  the  words  of  one  of  the  holiest,  a  id  which  briefly  point  out 
the  manner  in  which  men  are  saved  in  God's  way. — "For  we  our- 
selves also -were  sometimes  foolish,  disobedient,  deceived,  serving 
divers  lusts  and  pleasures,  living  in  malice  and  envy,  hateful,  and 
hating  one  another.  But  after  thai  the  kindness  and  love  of  God 
our  S.iviour  toward  man  appeared,  not  by  works  of  righteousness 
which  we  have  clone,  but  according  to  his  mercy  he  saved  us,  by 
the  wasliing  of  regeneration  and  renewing  of  the  Holy  Ghost; 
which  he  shed  on  us  abundantly  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Sa- 
viour." If  such  a  man,  who  had  been  devoted  to  do  works  of 
righteousness,  and  had  literilly  spent  his  life  in  doing  them,. felt 
constrained  to  say  of  himself  nid  others — "not  by  works  of  right- 
eousness which  we  have  done,"  what  language  can  you  use,  who 
have  been  all  your  life  gathering  together  riches? 

But  perhaps  you  re»nember  that  you  were  a  very  honest,  liberal, 
benevolent  dealer.  That  you  paid  all  your  debts  most  prompt- 
ly— did  not  ex'\ct  all  that  was  due  to  you — sent  not  the  poor  away 
hungry  nor  naked,  but  abundantly  fed  and  completely  clothed, 
and  that  you  were  ever  moved  with  pity  towards  the  widow  and 
the  fatherless,  and  ate  not  your  bread  alone  but  divided  it  most 
freely.  Especially  that  you  visited  all  the  sick  and  afflicted,  and 
poun^d  in  the  healing  wine  and  oil,  lifted  and  encouraged  the 
drooping  head,  -nd  emptied  your  pockets  to  procure  for  them  all 
that  aid  that  mortal  can  give  to  mortal  in  this  vale  of  tears.  All 
these  acts,  no  doubt,  wr^re  good  and  very  goo^l  in  their  proper 
time  and  place,  and  are  commendable,  and  hivs^  always  been  com- 
mended, and  always  will  i)e  by  all  the  virtuous  and  the  good. 
The  same  holy  m  n  of  whom  I  havesjwken  above,  directs  all  "to 
be  careful  to  maintain  g^)od  works,  decl  '.ring  that  these  things 
are  good  and  profitable  unto  men."  Bui  this  sime  h.,ly  m:n  as 
clearly  and  as  forci!)1v  declares  tint  they  will  not  save  a  man — 
that  they  are  not  God's  way  of  salvation,  when  be  says — "Though 
I  speak  with  the  tongues  of  men  and  of  angels,  and  have  not 
charity,  I  am  become  as  sousiding  brass,  or  a  tinkliag^  cymbil. 
And  though  1  have  the  gift  of  prophesy,  and  undeistdnd  all  my^ 


1^1  E  AFFLIOTED.  16^ 

leries,  and  all  knowledtre:  and  though  I  have  afl  faith,  so  that  I 
could  remove  mountains,  and  have  not  charity,  I  am  nothing. 
And  though  I  bestow  all  my  goods  to  feed  the  poor,  and  though  I 
give  my  hody  to  be  burned,  and  have  not  charity,  it  profiteth  me 
nothing."  These  are  works  of  righteousness,  and  the  most  ex; 
alted  works  of  righteousness.  They  are  much  more  than  com-^ 
men  morality,  and  yet  you  see  how  entirely  they  fail  to  enable  a 
person  to  meet  God  in  peace.  What  then!  what  then!  O  thoa 
that  art  rich  in  dollars,  and  in  good  deeds  too,  will  either  or  both 
of  these  avail  thee,  if  the  disease  which  has  seized,  you,  hurry 
you  away  wifli  no  other  preparation,  to  the  bar  of  that  God  who 
had  a  way  of  salvation, and  told  you  of  thu  w'^y  so  plainly,  and 
so  repeatedly?  Wfiat  good  will  your  morality  do  you,  when  you 
begin  to  reckon  with  this  august,  unyielding  and  terrible  Judge, 
who  will  be  approiched  in  no  other  way  than  his  own?  It  will 
be  nothing  in  the  account,  and  you  will  be  hastily  spurned  from 
his  presence,  as  an  evil  doer,  a  disobedient  and  impenitent  sinner. 

You  know,  my  afflicted  friend,  what  is  said  of  the  rich:  if  yoa 
do  not,  I  will  tell  you  with  a  feeling  and  an  affectionate  heart. 
*They  that  trust  in  their  wealth,  and  boast  themselves  in  the  mul- 
titude of  their  xiches;  none  of  them  can  by  any  means  redeem 
his  brothe'-,  nor  give  to  God  a  ransom  for  him.^'  "Will  he  esteem 
thy  riches?  no,  not  gold  nor  all  the  forces  of  strength.'' — "Riches 
profit  not  in  \hi  day  of  wrath.''  "Their  sdver  and  their  gold 
shall  not  he  able  io  deliver  them  in  'the  day  of  the  wrath  of  the 
Lord  "  "For  the  love  of  m.oney  is  the  root  of  all  evil;  which 
while  some  coveted  'after,  they  have  erred  from  the  faith,  and 
pierced  themselves  through  with  many  sorrows."  "What  is  a 
man  profited,  if  he  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul, 
or  what  sl^.H  a  man  g've  in  exchange  for  his  soul."  "Not  many 
wise  men  after  the  flesh,  not  many  mighty,  not  many  noble,  are 
calle;!."  "il  )W  hard  is  it  for  them-  that  trust  in  riches  to  enter 
into  the  kingdom  of  God !"  "Go  to  now,  ye  rich  men,  weep  and 
howl  for  your  miseries  that  shall  come  upon  you.  Your  riches 
are  corrupted,  and  your  garments  are  moth-eaten.  Your  gold  and 
silver  is  cani;ered;  and  the  rust  of  them  shall  be  a  witness  against 
you,  and  shall  eat  your  flesh  as  it  were  fire.  Ye  have  heaped 
treasure  together  for  the  Inst  days."  "W^oe  unto  you  that  are- 
jich!  fo'  ye  have  re<*eived  your  consolation." 

"There  was  a  certain  rich  man  which  w:*5  clothed  in  purple 
and  fine  linen,  and  fared  sumptuously  everyday  *  *  ^^  * 
the  rich  man  died  and  was  buried;  and  in  hell  he  lifted  up  his 
eyes,  being  in  torments,  and  seeth  Abraham  afar  ofi',  and  Lazarus 
in  his  bosom.  And  he  cried  and  said,  Father  Abraham,  have 
mercy  on  me,  and  send  Lazerus,  that  he  may  dip  tlie  tip  of  his 


170  ©ONSOLATIONS  OF 

finger  in  water  and  cool  my  tongue;  for  I  am  tormented  in  this 
iiame.  But  Abraham  said,  son,  remember  that  thou  in  thy  life- 
time receivedst  thy  good  things,  and  likewise  Lazarus  evil  things; 
but  now  he  is  comforted,  and  thou  art  tormented.  And  besides 
all  this,  between  us  and  you  there  is  a  great  gulf  fixed;  so  that 
they  which  would  pass  from  hence  to  you  cannot;  neither  can 
they  pass  to  us  that  would  come  from  thence.'' 

This  is  what  is  said  of  the  rich — all  these  different  sayings  and 
declarations  are  made  of  them.  And  now  the  great  matter  is, — 
the  great  query,  are  these  things  applicable  to  you?  shall  they  be 
said  of  you?  shall  they  come  upon  you,  and  shall  this  be  your 
doom?  If  so,  you  appear  to  be  moving  on  to  it  with  greai  rapid- 
ity, and  the  time  is  at  hand.  Again,  1  say,  shall  it  be  so?  A^  it 
respects  all  secondary  things,  means  and  causes,  more  dep-^nds 
upon  your  own  choice,  than  any  other  one  thing,  or  all  other 
things  taken  together.  If  you  choose  to  have  these  sayings  and 
declarations  verified  in  yourself,  and  to  meet  this  doom,  you  will 
have  it  so.  If  you  choose  and  determine  that  it  shall  not  be  so, 
then  it  will  not  be  so.  We  know  that  nothing  can  be  this  w^y  or 
that,  without  the  agency,  or  permission  of  him  on  whom  all  things 
depend.  Yet  mysterious  -is  it  may  appear  .to  us,  and  really  is, 
this  great  being  tells  us  all,  poor  and  rich,  that  our  doom  will  be 
according  to  our  choice.  But  perhaps  you  are  unconcerned  and 
indifferent. about  all  these  things,  or  at  least  profess  to  be,  and  en- 
deavor to  appear  so.  It  miy  be  you  are  concerned  about  being 
sick,  and  disabled  from  business,  and  in  pain  and  distress,  if  not 
about  deith.  If  this  is  the  case  let  me  take  a  view  of  your  con- 
dition, and  as  I  attempt  to  see  it  and  describe  it,  it  m.iy  be  well 
for  you  to  i(x>k  at  it  too. 

Here  you  lie  upon  your  "bed,  decked  wi;.h  coverings  of  tapest- 
ry, with  carved  works,  wiih  fine  linen."  Your  cloMiing  *'is  purple 
and  fine,  linen."  You  are  a  rid)  person,  and  you  hnve  every  thing 
rich  and  splendid  Mbout  you,  as  T  have  before  siid.  in  these 
things  you  have  taken,  and  if  yon  could  Ke  spared,  would  still 
take  delight.  And  herest  nd  your  friends,  to  whom  you  are  at- 
tached by  the  tenderest  and  sironfjest  lies. 

IIow  can  it  be  that  you  have  no  concern  about  lenving  these 
things  and  these  friends?  Why  did  yon  tike  delight  in  procuring 
them  an<i  in  having  th^-m,  and  why  do  you  possess  so  strony  de- 
sires to  live,  and  slill  to  have  these  thih-js,  and  to  enjoy  these 
friends,  and  al  the  simo  time  hnve  no  concern  about  dving  and 
leivinw '•hem  for  ever?  Impossible  !  Impossible!  my  fellow  mor- 
tal, unless  vout  heart  is  tridy  hardened,  to  the  hirdness  of  the 
nether  mill-stone. 

The  very  thought  of  leaving  these  things  and  these  friends.  i« 


THE     AFFLICTED.  ]7i 

a  heart-moving  and  a  heart-melting  considcratiGn.  It  is,  as  I 
have  before  said,  the  greatest  change  and  the  greatest  trial  that 
man  has  to  pass  through  on  the  earth.  And  I  appeal  to  your  own 
heart  and  conscience  to  know  if  it  is  not  so,  and  if  you  have  not 
viewed  it  to  be  so,  and  felt  as  if  it  were  indeed  so.  Why  have 
you  been  moved  when  you  have  stood  over  a  dying  friend  ?  Why 
did  the  fearsflow  down  your  cheeks,  and  why  was  your  heart  melted 
and  wrung  with  sorrow  and  grief,  at  the  mournful  sight  of  seeing 
them  torn  away  by  the  violent  hands  of  death?  Why  have  you 
been  ijreatly  moved  on  heiiiing  of  many  lives  lost  by  a  storm,  a 
pestilence,  an  earthquake,  or  an  all  destroying  battle,  in  which 
thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  were  killed?  Why  have  you 
always  been  moved  and  had  deep  concern  at  the  death  of  others, 
but  pretend  to  have  none  about  your  own.  The  death  of  all  that 
have  died  or  ever  will  die,  cannot  effect  you  like  the  death  of  your- 
self If  you  were  now  to  stand  and  see  all  that  are  alive  upon 
the  e^rth,  sink  by  an  earthquake,  and  be  ingulphed,  but  yourself 
spared,  it  would  not  effect  you  at  all  in  comparison  to  your  own 
death.  If  all  were  to  stand  and  see  you  sink  and  be  swallowed 
up,  the  matter  would  be  unspeakably  greater  to  you  than  your  see- 
ing them  sink.  If  ail  these  your  friends,  near  and  dear  to  you, 
were  confined  as  you  are,  and  threatened  by  death,  would  you 
have  no  concern  for  them?  You  certainlv  would.  Have  they  no 
concern  now  for  you?  Yes,  their  hearts  move  and  melt  with 
pity  and  grief.  And  can  you  seeall  this  concern  in  them  for )  ou, 
and  have  none  for  yourself?  No,  no!! 

Therefore,  I  am   forcibly   and    irresistibly  drawn  to  the  con- 
clusion   again,    tiiat    it    is    impossible    for  you  to  be    uncon- 
cerned about  dying,  wherj  you  take  into  view,  barely  your  leaving 
the  things  and    beiiigs  of  this  world.     1  say  it  is  impossible  for 
you  to  be  unconcerned,  unless  your  conscience  isseared  with  a  hot 
iron,  and  your  heart  is  hrrd  is  the  nether  mill-s*one;  or  you  are 
out  of  your  right  mind,  (viz:)  deranged.     And  if  you  are  not  so, 
but  have  your  senses,   you  must  be  much  more  concerned  about 
what  will  become  of  you   after  death.     Do  you  pretend?  can  you 
p''esnme  to  say,  that  you  have  no  concern  about  whither  you  are 
.    going,  or  wha*  will  become  of  you?     If  so,  I  would  ask  why  you 
h^ve  continually  possessed  and  exhibited  so  much  concern  about 
all  the  various,  unpleasant,  temporary  chanues  to  which  you  have 
ever  been   baM^'',  and  through   many  of  which  you  have  passed? 
W!iy  were  you  perpetually  anxious,  and  exceedingly  anxious,  lest 
;  you  should  experience  the  ch<:nge  of  becoming  poor  and  needy, 
-  destitute  not  only  of  the  comforts,  but  of  the  actual  necessaries  of 
life?     Why  did  you  h^ve  any  cncern  ordreid,  <ibout  any  of  the 
many  calamities  that  you  were  liable  to,  which  were  not  likely  to 


na  CONSOLATIONS  OP 

terminate  in  death?     Why  did  you  fear  the  dislocation  of  a  joiiu, 
the  fracture  of  a  bone,  the  loss  of  an  eye,  &,c.  &r. 

When  you  have  left  home  on  a  journey,  why  h.ive  you  had  con- 
cern, and  (Jeep  concern  too,  at  the  time  of  bidding  your  friends 
farevvell?  And  now  you  have  come  to  the  time,  to  the  soul-trying, 
most  heart-rondmg  moment,  when  you  must  bid  them  a  long,  a 
long  adieu,  and  take  your  finril  leave  of  them  upon  the  e^nrlh. 
When  in  times  past  you  left  them  on  a  journey,  to  go  a  great  dis- 
tance, and  be  absent  a  considerable  length  of  time,  you  felt  con- 
cerned both  for  them  and  for  yourself.  Vou  ponder<^d  and  mused 
thus  in  your  mind.  '4  now  leave  my  friends  and  my  liome — 1  go 
a  distance,  to  be  gone  some  time,  what  may  happen  to  them?  what 
may  happen  to  me?  Some  one  or  more  of  a  thousand  tilings 
Diay  befall  them,  or  me.  They  may  be  broken  uff,  driven  from 
their  homes,  and  scattered  abrctad  over  the  earth.  They  'iiay  be 
sick. — They  may  die;  and  if  I  should  live  and  return,  I  may  find 
not  one  of  them  to  welcome  me  on  my  return.  On  the  o'h;3r 
hand,  should  disappointments  and  calamities  fill  upon  me,  in  a 
distant  land  aniong  strangers,  far  from  the  kind  attention,  and  sooth- 
ing and  encouDging  smiles  of  dear  and  much  loved  friends,  how 
will  my  heart  thep  feel?  Will  it  be  possible  for  them  ever  <o 
come  to  me?  Shall  we  ever  see  each  others'  faces  again,  and  in- 
terchange acts  of  kindness,  and  feelings  of  love?  Shall  we  ever 
agnin  enjoy  each  others'  society,  and  be  happy  together."  Thus 
you  mused. — Thus  you  thought  and  felt,  and  thus  your  heart  was 
moved,  and  you  were  concerned.  And  now  you  are  about  to 
leave  them  and  the  whole  world,  not  knowing  what  will  become 
of  them — how  many  casual i ties  and  dif^culties  may  happen  to 
th«^m,  or  whether  it  will  ever  be  possible  for  them  to  come  to  you 
or  not;  but  knowinii;  clearly  and  certainly,  that  you  can  never /re- 
turn to  them  upon  the  e^rth.  And  as  clearly  and  certainly  that 
they  must  die,  but  vou  have  no  knowledge,  (or  pretend  to  have 
none)  whether,  after  their  bodies  shall  die,  it  will  be  possible  for 
yon  and  them  to  meet  again.  You  not  only  pretend  to  have  no 
knowledge,  but  no  concern,  whether  you  will  live  again  or  not, 
and  if  you  do,  whether  or  not  you  will  be  happy.  You  are  about 
to  take  this  most  serious,  this  long,  this  last  f  irewrll,  and  go  on 
that  journey  in  which  you  will  meet  no  bpck  travellers,  and  which 
you  cin  yourself  never  retrace,  and  pretend  neither  to  knovv'  nor 
care  whither  vou  are  going,  or  what  will  beconie  of  you!  How 
strange!  bow  nnncrountable  is  this!  Mow  entirely  are  you  now 
unlike  vou i self — unlike  what  y<ui  ever  were  before!  Tn  all  pre- 
vious matters  and  dilTlctilties,  and  minor  chariges,  you  were  very 
pro})prlv  and  very  wisely  concerned.  You  were  an  intelligent 
and  a  feeling  being.     But  now  wiien  you  have  come  to  the  grer.t 


change  of  changes,  the  greatest  of  all  changes  that  you  ever  an- 
ticipated upon  the  earth,  and  which  of  course  ouaht  to  excite  a 
concern,  deep'^r  than  the  deepest  that  ever  before  moved  in  your 
breast;  you  tell  us,  both  by  words  and  actions,  that  you  have  n« 
concern  at  all.  We  ask  then,  if  you  are  still,  and  in  this,  an  in- 
telligent and  a  feeling  being?  Is  this  worthy  of  yourself?  Is  it 
likea  human  being,  or  like  a  brute?  We  ask  again,  all  of  us  who 
are  around  you,  and  our  reason  and  feelings  unite,  and  most  ear- 
nestU  inquiieof  you,  wiiv  you  have  no  concern  at  this  most  seri- 
ous time?  Is  it  because  all  mankind  have  ahvdvs  been,  and  are 
now  without  conreru,  when  thev  approach  deatii?  Jf  you  think 
so,  vou  cannot  think  anv  thing  uiore  incorrect  and  false.  All 
mankind  have,  m  all  ages,  and  under  all  rircumslances,  civilized 
or  uncivilized,  learned  and  refined,  or  ignorant  barbarian,  wild 
and  savage,  possessed  and  exhibited  the  deepest  concern,  about 
what  would  become  of  them  after  death.  The  philosopher  and 
the  sage,  have  ever  speculated  about  it,  and  drawn  conclusions 
favoring  the  idea  that  man  would  live  again.  The  wild  man  and 
the  savage  have  ever  done  the  same,  and  said  there  would  be 
better  hunting  in  the  world  to  which  they  were  going  beyond 
the  grave. 

But  perhaps  you  reply  to  us  that  the  reason  why  you  have 
no  concern  about  what  will  become  of  jou  after  your  death,  is, 
that  it  is  impossible  for  you  to  know  anything  on  the  subject. 
If  y;)U  had  been  born  on  this  continent,  five  hundred  years  ago, 
of  Indian  parents,  you  would  have  had,  in  the  judgment  of  men, 
some  ground  to  have  said  so,  but  none  in  the  judgmnnt  of  God: 
see  R  jm:  2d.  Years  and  years  ago,  ''our  saviour  Jesus  Christ 
brought  life  and  immortality  to  light  through  the  gospel."  How- 
ever  much  life  and  immortaliry  may  have  before  been  in  the  dark, 
he  set  thorn  fully  in  the  li^ht,  and  caused  the  light  to  shine  round 
about  them  with  great  brightness  through  the  gospel.  And 
wherever  the  gospel  goes,  it  is  a  bright  sun,  and  in  its  centre 
men's  eyes  may  see  life  and  immortality  in  full  shape  and  of 
the  largest  size,  so  large  and  so  plainly  presented  to  view  that 
whoever  looks  cannot  tail  to  see;  but  some  shut  their  eyes  and 
do  not  look  at  this  sun.  They  do  not  believe  that  they  can 
there  see  life  and  immortality;  and  if  you  think  and  say  that  it 
is  impossible  for  you  to  know  any  thing  ahout  what  will  become 
of  you  after  death,  any  thing  about  future  life  and  immortality, 
it  is  because  you  shut  your  eyes  and  will  not  believe  that  life 
and  immortality  so  plaiuly  stare  you  in  the  face. 

You  will  not  believe  any  thing  that  Jesus  Christ  has  said 
concerning  the  invisible  world  into  which  you  are  now  going; 
will  not  believe  the  accounts  and  representations  which  he  hag 

15 


174  COXSOLATIONS   01' 

given  of  heaven  and  hell;  will  not  helieve  his  sacred  words 
nor  his  mighty  works,  his  many  and  benevolent  and  astonish- 
ing signs  and  wonders  which  he  wrought  among  all  people,  his 
friends  and  foes,  daring  the  space  of  three  whole  years;  will 
not  believe  in  his  resurrection  from  the  dead,  and  in  his  prom- 
ise and  power  to  raise  the  bodies  of  all  men;  in  his  glorious 
ascension  on  high,  and  in  his  "coming  with  ten  thousand  of  his 
saints  to  execute  judgment  upon  all.'^  You  will  not  receive 
his  advice  when  he  says,  '-fear  net  them  which  kill  the  body, 
but  are  not  able  to  kill  the  soul;  but  rather  fear  him  which  i& 
able  to  destroy  both  soul  and  body  in  hell."  You  pretend  not 
to  know  whether  you  have  a  soui  at  all  or  not;  and  if  you  have, 
you  do  not  pretend  to  know  whether  men  or  death  itself  can  kill 
it,  and  do  not  believe  that  God  can  destroy  both  soul  and  body 
4n  hell. 

If  you  believed  these  things,  you  would  now  have,  not  only 
a  concern,  but  a  most  anxious  concern.  If  you  believed  that 
the  Saviour  told  you  the  truth  when  he  told  you  that  you  were 
immortal,  ycu  would  be  very  desirous  to  know  whether  you 
would  be  immortally  happy  or  immortally  mi<erbale. 

And  here  let  me  toll  you,  my  rich  athicted  friend,  if  you 
doubt,  and  do  not  believe,  and  deny  what  Jesus  Chnst  has  told 
you  when  he  said  you  were  immortal,  no  one,  us  1  have  be- 
fore said,  has  plainly  and  fully  spoken  this  great  truth  but 
him,  and  to  your  view  life  and  immortality  are  not  brought  to 
light;  and  as  you  do  not  know  that  you  will  live  again,  ycu  do 
not  know  that  you  will  not.  The  one  must  be  as  much  in  the 
dark  to  you  as  the  other.  You  have  no  other  means -to  luiow 
that  you  will  not  be  immortaL  than  you  have  to  know  that  you 
will  be  immortal,  I  mean  if  you  discard  all  evidence  bur  the 
evidence  of  your  own  senses.  You  have  never  been  be\ond 
death  to  discover  by  your  own  senses  uhelher  you  could  and 
would  live  or  not.  And  even,  if  y^  u  wxuld  admit  the  testimony 
of  others,  none  have  evei'  come  i>ack  to  tell  us  what  they  t^aw 
and  felt  beyond  death,  as  I  have  already  fullv  shown  in  a  former 
part  of  my  book. 

JehUs  Christ  wasjGod  and  man,  but  as  man  and  after  the 
manner  ot  man,  he  made  no  comnuinications  to  mankind  on  ihe 
sui  ject  of immortaiity.  H^i  did  not  lei!  us  ihnt  he  either  saw, 
or  heard,  or  fell  the  fact,  but  he  toid  us.  us  God,  that  he  knew 
it;  he  told  us  by  his  own  mouth  and  by  the  mouth  of  his  in- 
spired servants  This  is  wbai  we  are  to  believe,  il  we  wish  to 
be  full}  satisfied  thai  we  are  immortal;  believing  this,  life  and 
iminoriaiit>  are  lull}  brought  to  iight  to  us.  but,  not  to  wander 
from  the  point,  1  would  just  furiher  observe,  that  neithei  ypu 


tllE   AFFLICTED.  llo 

nor  anv  other  person,  no  matter  how  learned,  can  find  any  true, 
unsophisticated  argument  or  chain  of  reasoning  to  show  the 
impossibility  of  your  being  immortal.  Many  more  and  stronger 
arguments  can  be  found  to  show  the  possibility  of  it.  Such  as 
this,  you  once  had  no  life  or  being,  but  now  you  have.  It  was 
therefore  possible  for  you  to  begin  to  be  and  live,  and  if  it  was 
possible  for  you  to  begin  to  be  and  live,  is  it  not  easier  for  a 
thing  to  continue  to  be  than  to  begin  to  be?  The  conclusion 
is  fair  and  without  the  least  sophistry,  that  it  is  more  possible 
for  you  to  continue  to  be  and  live,  than  it  was  for  you  to  com 
me  nee  being  and  life. 

Upon  the  whole,  1  say  therefore  that  you  do  not  know,  and 
cannot  know,  that  jou  will  not  live  again.  You  are,  then, 
in  uncertainty  ab.out  it;  and  what  con^olatii^n  is  there  in  un- 
cerfainty?  1  cannot  see  how  there  can  possibly  be  any.  But 
I  lo  know  that  uncertainty,  even  in  ihe  small  affairs  of  life 
and  time,  generally  produces  very  great  perplexity  and  dis- 
tress. VVhat,  then,  must  it  be  supposed  to  produce  about  the 
infinitely  greater  matters  of  life  and  immortality! 

Ii  is  exceedingly  difficult  for  us  who  are  here  around  you, 
to  believe  that  you  have  no  concern  about  the  consequences  of 
death.  It  may  be  yon  pretend  to  have  none,  but  at  the  same  time 
really  have  a  very  deep  concern.  If  this  is  the  case,  you  had 
better  ne  honest  and  candid,  and  j-ist  tell  us  your  real  feelings 
and  condition  thit  we  may  do  all  we  can  to  administer  conso- 
lation to  you;  but  I  have  before  admitted  that  it  was  possible 
for  you  actually  to  have  no  concern,  even  at  this  time  when 
you  should  have  the  most. 

If  so,  it  is,  as  I  have  said,  because  you  do  not  believe  that 
Jesus  Christ  has  brought  life  and  immortality  to  ligth  And 
now  the  lima  has  come  for  me  to  he  very  plain  and  honest,  and 
sympathetic,  and  unreserved  with  yoi*. 

A;c  'ruingly,  I  now  tell  you  my  rich,  a  filleted,  dying  friend, 
that  your  not  believing  that  Jesus  Christ  brought  life  and  im- 
mortality to  lighi,  does  not  make  it  untrue.  It  is  no  less  true 
for  the  want  of  your  faiih.  No  more  ihan  it  would  be  untruo 
that  there  ever  existed  such  cities  as  Babylon,  Jerusalem  and 
11  >me,  or  such  men  as  Cyrus,  Alexander  the  great,  Augustus 
Ca3?;ar,  Napoleon  Buonaparte,  or  our  father  Washington,  merely 
because  you  do  not  be.ieve  that  there  were  such  cities  and  such 
men.  Your  unbelief  cannot  destroy  a/Z  that,  or  awi/ of  that  evid- 
ence which  presents  this  glorious  and  happy  truth  in  full  shape 
and  size  upon  the  broad  face  of  the  gospel  sun.  Others  may  see 
it  you  ;o  shit  your  eyes.  Every  leaf  of  the  sacred  scriptures 
have  stared  you  and  all  of  us  in  the  face,  and  said,**  VV  ho  hath  bo. 


nV  6eN£OLATIO?f5    OF 

jieved  our  report?"  You  have  answered,  not  I.  We  havtr 
answered,  ''Lord,  to  wliom  shall  we  go?  ihou  hast  ihe  words  of 
eternal  life,  and  we  believe  and  are  sure  that  thou  art  that 
Christ,  the  son  of  the  living  God,"  and  that  thou  hast  brought 
life  and  immortality  to  light,  through  the  gospel.  Vour  unbe- 
lief can  neither  destroy  the  truth,  nor  the  belief  of  the  truth 
in  us.  We  believe  and  are  sure,  that  is,  we  know  that  Jesue 
Christ  has  brought  life  and  immortality  to  light;  that  we,  and 
all  men,  are  immf»rtal.  No  point  has  more  abundant,  more 
various,  more  clear  or  more  decisive  evidences  concnlering 
and  combining  to  establish  it.  We  have  ever  lived  in  the 
midst  of  this  overwhelming  evidence,  and  "been  compassed 
about  wjth  a  great  cloud  of  witnesses;"  and  we  have  the  wit- 
ness within  ourselves. 

And  we,  this  day,  this  day  of  affliction  and  grief  to  you,  stand 
around  your  sick  and  dying  bed.  with  feeling,  anxious,  achmg 
hearts,  and  most  solemnly  repeat  the  two  last  things  of  thase 
that  we  have  alref^dy  told  you  were  said  of  the  sick.  The  first 
of  the  two,  is  that  frightful  woe  which  rolled  from  the  nn>uth  of 
him  who  brought  life  and  immortality  to  light;  ''Woe  unto  you 
that  are  rich!  for  ye  have  received  your  consolation."  The 
other  IS  his  story  of  the  rich  man  who  died  and  was  buried,  and 
in  hell  lifted  up  his  eyes  being  in  torments. 

You  have  received  your  consolation,  then.  You  have  been 
and  are  now  rich.  You  may  kx)k  back  over  the  whole  journey 
of  your  life,  and  reflect  upon  the  consolations  that  you  have 
received  as  you  passed  along.  With  the  help  of  all  your  riches* 
I  expect  you  will  not  see  the  whole  to  have  umounted  to  much. 
And  whatever  you  may  see,  the  multiplicity,  and  the  richiiess, 
and  sweetness  of  your  consolations  to  have  been,  they  are  now 
all  gone  by,  and  like  the  plentiful  meals  which  you  ate  five  and 
ten  years  ago,  they  neither  do  nor  can  give  you  any  eiijoy- 
ment  now.  You  have  received  your  consolation.  Thou,  in 
thy  lifetime,  hast  received  thy  good  things.  And  you  have 
now  come  to  the  end  of  your  lifetime,  and  are  about  to  receive 
no  more  good  things.  It  is  not  now,  and  it  never  can  l»e  any 
consolation  to  you  that  you  have  had  consolation.  You  are 
about  to  die,  and  no  doubt  be  buried  with  great  parade,  and 
pomp,  and  show.  Over  your  dead  body  will  likely  be  ra.sed 
a  splendid  monument  or  a  huge  mausoleum,  with  some  high 
sounding  epitaph  inscribed  upon  it;  it  may  stand  for  several 
generations,  and  those  that  pass  may  read  your  name  there, 
and  be  reminded  of  your  riches  and  greatness,  and  may  bear 
the  story  of  all  your  extensive  possessions  and  of  these  your 
grand  and  magnificent  buildings.     JJut  the  other  part  oftli€- 


THE    AFFLICTED.  177 

serious  story  which  I  am  now  telling  you,  and  which  is  as  cer- 
tainly and  undoubtedly  before  you  [if  you  do  not  believe  and 
repent]  as  it  is  certain  and  undoubted  that  you  will  die,  is,  that 
in  hell  you  will  lift  up  your  eyes,  being  in  torments.  And  you 
may  see  Abraham  afar  off  with  Lazarus  in  his  bosom,  in  the 
company  of  all  holy  and  happy  angels  and  men;  and  you  may 
cry  and  say,  father  Abraham,  have  mercy  on  me  and  send  some 
Lazarus  that  he  may  dip  the  tip  of  his  finger  in  water  and  cool 
my  tongue;  for  I  am  tormented  in  this  flame.  But  Abraham 
wHl  say,  son,  remember  that  thou  in  thy  lifetime  receivedst  thy 
good  things.  A.nd  besides  all  this,  betwt.en  us  and  you  there 
is  a  great  gulf  fixed,  so  that  they  which  would  pass  from  thence 
to  you  cannot;  neither  can  they  pass  to  us  that  would  come  from 
thence.  And  there  you  will  be.  Across  that  great,  that  vast, 
that  impassable  gulf  you  can  never  pass. 

And  I  will  tell  you  what  makes  me  believe,  and  be  sure,  and 
know,  and  be  satisfied  that  you  will  be  there  in  torments,  and 
never  be  able  to  pass  that  tremendous  gult^.  Because  Jesus 
Christ  did  prove  himself  in  many  ways  to  be  a  great  being,  the 
son  of  God,  yea  himself  to  be  God,  by  curing  all  manner  of  dis- 
eases, b}  working  thousands  of  benevolent  miracles,  by  restor- 
ing the  dead  to  life,  by  saying  to  the  sea  and  to  the  winds, 
*' peace,  be  still  I  and  the  winds  ceased  and  there  was  a  great 
calm,  the  winds  and  and  the  sea  obeyed  him;"  by  telling  men 
their  thoughts;  by  fortelling  things  to  come,  which  actually  did 
come  to  pass,  particularly  the  state  of  the  Jews,  which  are  a 
kind  of  standing  miracle;  and  finally  because  he  always  did 
tell  the  truth  and  always  will,  and  cannot  lie:  he  said,  *'heaven 
and  earth  shall  pass  away,  but  my  words  shall  not  pass  away;'* 
and  he  said,  if  you  believe  not  on  him,  you  shall  lift  up  your 
eyes  there  in  torments,  and  be  there  and  never  be  able  to  pass 
that  awful  gulf;  and  it  will  be  true,  it  za:ill  be  so,  it  zoiU,  it  will, 
I  say.  This  present  world  is  a  place  of  much  wretchedness, 
misery  and  wo.  You  have  seen  it  with  your  eyes:  you  have 
been  in  the  midst  of  it;  you  have  felt  it,  you  now  teel  it,  and 
feel  it  severely  too.  You  have  often  thought,  when  you  have 
bem  witnessing  and  feeiing  this  misery  and  wo,  of  the  powep 
of  God,  and  felt  surprised  and  wondered  why  he  did  not  stretch 
out  his  strong,  mighiy  and  almighty  rii:>ht  arm,  and  deliver  your- 
self'And  others  from  the  pains  and  agonies  which  you  were  en- 
during. Yea,  you  have  wondered  why  he  did  not  deliver  and 
make  happy  this  groaning  world.  But  you  see  he  does  not  do 
it.  The  plain  reason  he  has  given  is,  because  all  have  sinned.. 
Theretbre  he  lets  them  sntfer.  Therefore*  he  lets  you  siifFer 
and  will  let  vou  suffer,  even  unto  death,  and  will  let  you  lift 

15* 


17S  C0?5S0LATI0yS   OF 

Up  your  ey6s  being  in  torments,  beyond  the  impassable  gulf.- 
"A  God  all  mercy  would  be  a  God  unjust."  His  mercy  does 
not  reach  you  now  to  such  an  extent  and  to  such  a  degree  as  to 
ward  oft' from  you  all  suffering  and  misery.  He  sees  you  lying, 
and  groaning,  and  languishing  on  this  bed,  and  does  not  come 
nigh  to  help  and  deliver  you  from  these  present,  moderate,  incon- 
siderable sutferiijgs.  It  is  not  inconsistent  with  all  the  goodness 
of  his  nature,  his  kindness,  his  tenderness,  his  great  pity,  and 
amazing  love,  and  condescension,  thus  to  look  upon  you  at  this 
moment.  And  if  you  resist  and  reject  all  this  his  goodness,  this 
boundless  love  of  his,  with  which  he  "so  loved  the  vvorld  that  he 
gave  his  only  begotten  son,  that  whosoever  believeth  in  him 
should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life;"  he  will  look  upon 
you  being  in  torments,  beyond  the  impassable  gulf,  and  none  of 
all  the  goodness  of  his  nature  will  be  moved  towards  you  at  any 
period  or  in  any  degree,  but  the  greatness  of  his  power  and  ven- 
geance will  be  unchangeably  set  against  you.  This  he  has  de- 
clared, and  this  he  will  make  good.  It  will  be  as  true,  and  as 
certain,  and  as  real  as  any  ofalj  the  things  which  you  have  al- 
ready experienced  and  felt,  or  which  you  now  experience  and  feel.. 
But  this  you  do  not  believe.  God  has  already  done,  not  only 
many  things,  but  a  great  many  things,  and  very  weighty  and  im- 
portant things,  things  exceedingly  condescending  and  kind,  to 
induce  and  incline,  and  persuade  you  to  believe  it.  He  ha& 
given  you  the  most  striking  evidence.  He  has  set  before  you 
a  body  of  the  most  commanding  and  irresistible  evidence, 
which  evidence  is  of  long  standing  and  of  imperishable  cha- 
Facter,  was  given  to  your  forefathers  from  generations  imme» 
morial,  and  has  been  increasing  in  strenght  and  clearness  ever 
since  it  was  first  given.  He  has  ever  surrounded  you  with 
*'a  cloud  of  witnesses,"  who  have  continually  told  you  that  they 
believed,  and  knew,  and  felt  it  to  be  true,  that  God  would  do 
what  he  has  said  he  would  do.  He  has  set  before  you  many 
and  various  motives,  motives  of  the  highest  and  most  weighty 
clmracter.  Thx)se  that  were  terrible  to  the  most  frightful  ex- 
tent; and  those  that  were  alluring  and  captivating  beyond  ex- 
pression. He  has  set  before  you  hell  with  all  its  horrors,  aid 
heaven  with  all  its  glories  and  happiness.  And  all  these  things 
he  has  done  for  yourgood ;  to  induce  and  cause  you  to  believe  what 
he  sayg,  and  to  act  towards  him  as  you  ought  to  do;  and  by  sa 
doing  to  shun  everlasting  misery  and  gain  everlastmg  happiness. 
And  now  my  rich,  but  languishing  fellow  mortal,  I  feel  my- 
self prompted ,  constrained  and  urged,  by  the  weight  of  ail  tiiie 
evidence  resting  upon  my  mind,  and  by  all  these  tremendous 
Hid  solemn  motives  afifecting.  and  moving  my  heart,  by  knovv- 


THE   AFFLICTED.  17^ 

ing  both  the  terrors  and  the  love  of  the  Lord,  to  persuade  and 
prav  \  oil,  even  yet,  at  this  late  hour,  to  be  reconciled  unto  God. 
I  have  already  told  you  God's  way,  and  his  only  way,  to  be 
reconciled  unto  him ;  and  that  way  is  through  Christ.  "  Other 
foundation  can  no  man  lay,  than  that  is  laid,  which  is  Jesus 
Christ."  Another  way  can  no  man  find,  than  that  is  found, 
which  is  Jesus  Christ.  And  here  lel  me  tell  you — and  my 
heart  rejoices,  and  greatly  rejoices  to  be  able  to  tell  you — that 
it  is  possible  to  find  this  way,  both  easily  and  quickly,  even  in 
a  moment,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  So  Matthew  the  pub- 
lican tbund  it.  So  Zaccheus,  who  climbed  the  tree,  found  it; 
and  many  others,  but  most  strikingly  of  all,  the  dying  thief. — 
And  you.—  O  my  heart  is  moved,  and  melts  with  tenderness 
and  sympathy  while  I  stand  over  your  pale  and  emaciated  body 
and  speak  itl  and  so  you  may  find  it,  even  yet.  What  you 
have  to  do  I  will  now  plainly  tell  you.  Immediately  let  your 
yiches  go — give  them  up — turn  your  eyes  from  them — unrivet 
your  affections  from  them,  and  "  set  your  affections  not  on 
things  below ,  but  on  things  above;"  and  be  truly  sorrowful  that 
you  have  let  these  things  below  occupy  and  engross  so  much 
of  your  time  and  attention,  and  esteem;  and  be  entirely  willing 
to  surrender  them  up  to  be  disposed  of  by  God  as  he  may  think 
best,  not  to  be  thrown  away  and  lost,  but  to  be  used  for  His 
own  glory.  You  must  now  be  willing  to  give  up  all  earthly 
things  and  considerations,  "your  houses,  your  brethren,  your 
sisters,  your  father,  your  mother,  your  wife,  your  children,  and 
your  lands,  for  the  name's  sake  of  Jesus  Christ,  that  you  may 
receive  an  hundred  fold,  and  inherit  eternal  life."  You  must 
be  as  willing  to  do  this,  and  even  more  willing,  than  he  who  is 
owner  and  commander  of  a  ship  is,  in  time  of  a  storm,  to  cast 
overboard  the  lading  of  his  ship,  not  only  those  articles  which 
are  less  valuable,  but  the  more  valuable,  and  the  most  valuable, 
yea,  the  whole,  even  to  the  last  one,  in  order  to  save  his  life. 
You  must  deny  yourself,  not  only  in  part,  but  entirely.  Further, 
you  must  "cast  down  your  imaginations,  and  every  high  thing^ 
in  you,  that  exalteth  itself  against  the  knowledge  of  God,  and 
bring  into  captivity  every  thought  to  the  obedience  of  Christ. 
You  must  go  out  of  yourself  into  Christ,  and  then  you  will  be  ia 
God's  way  of  salvation.  All  your  unbelief  must  die  away  and 
perish,  and  your  soul  must  fill  with  faith,  with  strong  feith;you 
must  believe  in  Jesus  Christ  with  your  whole  soul  Your  hard 
heart  must  be  softened  and  melted,  and  wrung  with  sorrow 
for  all  your  sins  and  iniqaities,  your  crimes  and  follies;  and 
you  must,  with  grief  and  hatred  of  them,  turn  from  them  unto 
God      A.11  your  exalted  views  and  notions  of  your  superiority 


180  CONSOLATIONS    OF 

and  greatness,  vvhVh  your  riches  begot  in  you,  must  vanish.— 
Yviur  ideas  of  having  noble  blood  must  fly  away.  And  if  you 
had  a  strong  mind,  and  have  received  a  gcjod  education,  and  are 
a  learned  person,  you  must  consider  your  learning  as  nothing. 
^*Verily  I  say  unto  you,  whosoever  shall  not  receive  the  king- 
dom of  God  as  a  little  child,  he  shall  not  enter  therein.''-— 
'•Except  you  be  converted,  and  become  as  a  little  child,  you 
shall  not  enter  into  the  Kuigdom  of  Heaven."  Not  the  most 
distant  thought  or  feeling  must  remain  about  you  that  you  are 
more  acceptable  in  the  sight  of  God  on  account  of  your  wealth, 
your  knowledge,  your  power,  or  your  influence.  You  must 
remember  that  Jesus  Chiist  came  "not  to  call  the  righteous 
but  fcinners  to  repentance.  That  the  whole  need  not  a  physician, 
but  they  that  are  sick."  And  you  must  bear  ni  mind,  and  let 
it  sink  deeply  into  your  mind,  that  he  went  unto  the  multitude — 
that  he  taught  the  multitude,  miLgling  with  them,  and  sat  down 
to  eat  with  publicans  and  sinners.  You  must,  therefore,  con- 
cider  and  feel  yourself  sick  in  soul  as  well  as  in  body — sin  sick, 
diseased  by  sin,  and  now  be  induced  most  hastily  to  apply  to 
the  great  Physician  of  souls,  and  most  humbly  to  beg  of  Him, 
to  heal  your  soul.  Because  he  was  not  great  after  the  manner 
of  men,  was  not  a  general,  prince  nor  king,  you  must  not  des- 
pise hjm;  he  must  not  therefore  be  unto  you  a  stumbling  block, 
nor  foolishness,  but  you  must  consider  him  as  he  really  is — 
*'  the  power  of  God  and  the  wisdom  of  God;"  and  he  must  be 
made  unto  yoUj  wisdom,  and  righteousness,  and  sanctification, 
and  redemption:  that  according  as  it  is  written,  "he  thatglori- 
eth,  let  him  glory  in  the  Lord."  Thus  you  must  gl'-ry,  and 
not  in  yourself.  And  because  Christ's  people  have  generally 
been  and  are  now  poor  and  lowly,  of  the  lower  and  lowest  or- 
ders of  men,  you  must  not  be  ashamed  of  them,  and  thereby  be 
deterred  from  contessing  Christ  before  men;  you  must  not  be 
ashamed  of  Christ,  nor  ashamed  in  any  way,  on  any  account, 
or  in  any  degree,  to  confess  him  before  men — for  he  himself 
has  said — '•  Whosoever  therefore  shall  be  ashamed  of  me  and 
of  my  words,  in  this  adulterous  and  sinful  generation;  of  him 
also  shall  the  Son  of  Man  be  ashamed,  when  he  conieth  in  the 
glory  of  hi!5  Father,  with  the  holy  angels." 

Upon  the  whole  then,  you  must  not  let  unbelief,  or  hardness 
of  heart,  shame  or  fear,  enemies  visible  or  invisible,  bad  men  or 
devils, deter  and  stop  you  from  coming  unto  Christ.  You  must, 
I  repeat  it,  and  with  emphasis  too, — oro  out  of  yourself  into 
Christ,  and  then  you  will  be  iu  God's  way  of  salvation;  and 
then,  and  only  then,  you  will  liod  consolation,  which  was  the 
thing  tL>  be  found.    Taking  this  advice  and  this  course,  my 


SHE   AITLXC'TEB.  i^i 

dear  friend,  \ou  will  not  only  find  consolation,  but  a  fountain 
ofconsokition.     You   will  be  a  christian  right  away.     The 
Christian's  hope  will   be  yours,   and  all   his   encouragements 
and  supports;   and  all  his" high  and  holy  and  happy  and  glori- 
ous prospects  will  open  before  you ;  such  as  I  have  described 
them  in  the  iirst  two  par^s  of  my  book,  to  which  you  may  then 
look,  and  in  which  you  may  read,  and  as  you  read,  may  con- 
sider yourself  the  person  addressed,  using  either  tho  first  or  se- 
cond according  to  the  disease  which  is  upon  you.     Being  thus 
and  doinfT  thus,  you  will  lay  up  for  yourself,  '^treasures  in  hea- 
re«,   where  neither  moth  nor  rust  doth   corrupt,  and   where 
thieves  do  not  break  through  nor  steal,*''  and  I  may  add  where 
you  w  ill  not  be  torn  away  from  your  treasures  by  death.     You 
will  thus  secure  unto  yourself  a  title  ^'to  an  inheritance  incor^ 
Tuptible,  and  undetiled,  and  that  fadeth  not  away,  reserved  in 
heaven  for  you."     A  title  to  lands  in  the  heavenly  Canaan,  and 
not  oniy  to"^  lands  but  to  mansions  too.     A  title  signed,  sealed 
and  delivered  by  the  hand  of  the  eternal  God  himself,  and  se- 
curiug  unto  vou  the  highest  and  most  valuable  possessions  or 
inheruance  that  is  possible  for  you  to  have  and  hold  in  all  his 
universe.      Havitm  secured  this   title,  -vhieh  as  1  have  shown, 
you  may  do  even  in  a  moment  of  time,  you  will  not  die  and  be 
buried  and  in  hell  lift    up   your  eyes  being    in    torments.  ^ 
You  will  die,  it  is  true,  and  leave  these  possessions  which  you 
now  hold,  but  as  you  die 

"  Will  read  your  title  clear 

To  mansions  in  the  skies, 
And  bid  farewell  to  every  fear, 
And  wipe  your  weeping  e>es." 

Your  fellow  mortals  will  carry  your  dead  body  out  of  this 
your  earthly  mansion,  and  kind  kindred  angels  will  carry  yiur 
living  spirit  into  the  heavenly  mansions.  1  bid  you  an  affec- 
tionate farewell.  June  {jih,   1830. 

Note.— If  I  attempt  at  this  moment  to  express  the  gratitude 
which  I  feel  to  GA  fur  enabling  me  to  advance  thus  far,  under 
mv  very  great  bodily  weakness  and  through  ten  thousand  in- 
terruptions, m  writing  the  Consolations  of  the  Afflicted,  I  know 
I  shall  utterly  fail  to  express  what  I  feel.  I  am  encouraged  to 
b.  pe  that  as  he  has  upheld  and  strengthened  me  thtis  far,  ho 
will  at  least  continue  my  little  strength  and  sustain  me  nil  I 
accomplish  my  whole  plan,  my  whole  work  cf  sympathy  and 
benevolence  for  the  afdictcd.    'Should  I  not,  but  die,  may  sur- 


182  CONSOLATION'S    OP 

vivors  print  what  is  done  for  the  good  ofmankind.  I  ^lavc  yet 
to  write  for  the  Stranger — The  Aojed — Those  afflicted  by  the 
afflictions  of  others— and  the  Melancholy. 

"The  author's  life  was  at  this  time  threatened  by  a  periodical 
disease." 


FOR  THE  STRANGER  IN  AFFLICTION. 

At  the  discovery  of  America,  by  the  EMropeans,  i^  was  very 
natij."il!y  and  very  proper!)^  called  the  ''^iew  World."  It  was 
a  oe  V  nnd  extraordinary  degree  of  courajre  in  an  tmcommnnly 
bold  and  adventuring  man,  (viz.)  Colum*  us,  which  bore  him 
up  on  the  trackless  and  frightful  bosom  of  the  ocean,  un-ii  his 
eyes  beheld  ibis  -N^'w  Wirid,"  and  his  feet  stepped  <nU  Jipon 
it.  And,  as  it  was  an  adventuring  and  explormg  spirit  which 
discovered  its  shores,  if  has  been  and  is  still  the  same  spirit 
whirh  pervade^  and  explores  the  whole  of  its  vhsi  interior.  Its 
towns,  and  villages,  and  cities,  particularly  in  the  West,  arc 
yet  remote  from  one  another:  thprcfore.  its  commerce,  which 
is  considerable,  requires  much  travelling  by  land  and  water. 
From  these  and  other  ca::scs  a  considerable  part  of  our  popu- 
lar n  leave  the  hemes  of  >heir  infancy  an  J  youth,  the  bosoms 
of  the  families  in  which  ihey  have  long  enjoved  the  s  ciety 
and  assistance  of  relations  and  friends,  and  go  h  uidrods  and 
thousands  of  miles  in  search  of  some  gain,  or  souic  new  "home 
in  a  newer  and  more  untried  part  of  this  "New  Word." 

S'^me  parts  are  more  healthfid  thnn  others:  on  this  account, 
travellers  are  very  frequentlv  taken  sick  f^om  home.  There 
are  many  other  causes  of  their  sickness  be.<ides  the  diflferoijce 
of  climates.  Two  climates  mav  he  equally  healthf ;',  niid  yet 
pcM'sons  going  from  one  to  the  other  may  fill  a  prey  todison.^c. 
Thel-rea'hing  of  air,  the  drinking  of  water,  the  eating  of  f  od 
to  which  *hey  are  not  accustomed,  will  generally  have  a  new 
effect  eidi<'r  good  or  bad,  lut  moie  comm'.'iily  bad.  The  priva- 
ti  »ns  and  exp.)sures  to  which  they  are  liable  in  journey iri<v  tVom 
place  to  place  are  f)l lowed  by  the  sam'^  unclesirnble  conseqnen- 
ces;  besides  the  state  of  the  mind  will  have  "^  powerfji  inl'u- 
ence  either  good  or  bad.  Is  ihe  mind  enterfninod,  pleased, 
deligh  cd  with  the  sight  of  new  towns,  cities  und  vibages,  and 
new  sections  of  country,  all  haviuii  their  j)ecaliarities.  this  will 
bo  conducive  to  good  healih.     On  the  other  hand,  are  unfavoro 


^•HE   AFFLICTED.  i83 

'4.'ole  impressions  made  upon  the  miad,  and  does  it  not  take  de- 
light in  the  scenes  it  beholds,  and  the  condition  it  is  in,  bad 
health  and  sickness  may  be  the  consequences.  Nostalgia,  or 
being  *'home  sick,"  (according  to  the  popular  phrase)  may  pro* 
duce  actual  bodily  sickness,  and  lastly,  becoming  peimy  less,  or 
moneyless,  in  a  land  of  strangers,  may  sicken  the  heart,  the 
body,  the  soul,  the  whole  being. 

Because  it  is  not  a  common  thing  for  females  to  travel  a  dis- 
tance, unaccompanied  by  friends  or  relations,  and  further,  be^ 
cause  it  is  not  so  common  for  married  men  to  lea\e  their  la  mi- 
lies  and  take  long  journeys,  as  it  is  for  young  unmarried  men, 
the  class  of  mankind  for  which  1  now  write  is  less  numerous 
than  any  which  I  have  yet  attempted  to  console  in  their  affiic- 
tions.  1  r^hall,  iheretore,  be  the  more  brief;  and  although  I 
shall  have  mainly  in  view  travelling  adventuring  young  men, 
I  shall  attempt  so  to  shape  my  address  as  to  make  it  applicable 
as  heretofore,  to  all  ages  and  both  sexes. 

Because  persons  cannot  remain  a  length  of  time  in  one  place 
and  still  be  strangers,  without  acquaintances  and  without 
friends,  and  because  chronic  patieins  may  be  in  a  complaining 
condition  for  years,  and  thus  cease  to  be  strangers,  or  evea 
work  their  way  from  the  land  of  strangers  to  their  former 
home  and  friends,  the  patients  whom  1  shall  now  proceed  to 
address  are  those  who  are  attacked  with  sudden,  and  violent, 
and  periodical  sickness.  Such'  attacks  upon  s^trangers  are 
much  more  common  than  upon  settled  and  permanent  citizens; 
and  far  more  frequent  in  the  southern  parts  oi  our  country  than 
in  the  norttiern  and  eastern:  so  much  so,  that  certain  seinions 
and  cities  of  the  south  haye,  with  considerable  propriety,  been 
called  the  graveyards  of  the  north,  particularly  that  great  com- 
meiciai  depot,  New  Orleans.  Multitudes,  nmltitudes  of  our 
most  health) ,  robust  und  h  irdy  sons  of  the  north,  go  down  to  the 
south  seeking  their  fortune,  but  instead  thereof  find  a  bed  of 
dreadful  sickness,  and  in  many  instances,  a  premature  and 
unhappy   d^aih  in  a  strange  land, 

xiiUicted  strange.  I  sickness  and  trouble  have  overtaken  you 
in  a  land  of  strangers;  you  are  where  no  faces  are  kn^wn  to 
^^ou,  and  yr.urs  to  none  Prompted  by  the  same  tender,  dct-p, 
live.y  and  active  sympath;,  which  has  moved  me  to  attempt  to 
console  others,  aal  urged  on  by  the  same  extensive,  far-travel- 
ling, wide  ranging,  coinprehvjnsive  benevolence,  which  hastens 
in  ail  diieciions,  to  all  lengths,  and  to  all  places,  to  relieve  the 
niiseraole,  i  have  fdlowed  you  in  all  your  journeyings,  across 
moii.itaias  and  plains,  through  deserts,  and  with  ihe  courses  of 
the  meandering  rivers,  into  this  remote  country,  and  even  into 


iS4  OJJSOLATIOISS   OF 

this  sick  chamber  where  you  now  lie.  No  trivial  errand  has 
brought  me  thus  far.  No  selfish,  sordid  motive  h.is  been  he 
influencing  and  exciting  impulse.  I  come  on  an  errand  of  love 
and  pity,  to  do  you  good.  To  attempt  to  quiet  and  calm  and 
encourage  your  drooping  spirits.  To  pour  into  your  afflicted, 
lonely  and  forlorn  bosom  some  healing  balm,  some  reviving 
cordial,  some  real  consolation. 

Here  you  lie,  far  from  home,  far  from  friends.  No  father, 
or  mother,  or  brother,  or  sister,  or  loving  wife  is  here;  h>ng 
rivers  flow  and  huge  mountains  stand  between  you  and  them; 
their  faces  smile  not,  and  shine  not  upon  you;  their  hands  min- 
ister not  to  your  necessities;  their  gentle  voices  speak  not.  whis- 
per not  kind  and  cheering  words  into  your  ear;  the  fireside  and 
door-yard  scenes  of  much  loved  home  are  not  now  before  your 
eyes;  all  things  around  are  new  and  strange  and  more  or  less 
dismal;  glooms  hover  over  you;  your  eyes  weep;  your  heart  is 
pensive  and  sad ;  you  are  disconsolate.  I  have  already  said  all 
I  can  for  you  on  all  points  save  one,  and  that  is  the  point  or  fact 
of  your  being  a  stranger.  To  this  point  it  is  my  special  object 
aow  to  direct  my  attention. 

There  will  be  the  utmost  propriety  in  my  making  my  com- 
munications to  you  in  private  ;  because  it  will  be  my  special 
business  to  tell  you  how  to  feel  and  act  towards  these  strangers 
who  are  around  you.  1  will  therefore  close  and  bolt  the  door 
for  an  hour  or  two. 

And  now,  my  tnend,  1  must  tell  you  thot  1  well  know  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  \our  sad,  the  secret  and  sorrowful 
workings  of  your  lonely  liear^t,  Yau  lie  here  upon  this  bed 
•and  think  and  ponder.  Your  th'  uii.hts  and  desires  go  back — 
they  retrace  your  whole  journey  ar*d  linger  about  that  home 
you  left,  now  dear  enough  if  never  before  Your  heart  fills 
and  overflows,  and  you  inwardly  exclaim — "'O  that  I  were  ihis 
moment  within  the  doors  of  that  well  known  and  long  known 
house,  and  surrounded  by  those  dear  telatii>ns  and  friends  in 
the  circle  of  whom  I  have  so  hmg  been,  and  for  the  more  part 
been  belssed  and  happy."  The  object  whn  h  brought  you  here 
now  appears  trivial  and  tiifli.ig,  if  not  alb»ge'her  <ieKibive  and 
hateful.  Perhaps  you  blame  yourself  most  bitterly  for  pursu- 
ing it  till  it  led  you  into  this  your  present  doleful  place  and  con- 
dition. In  all  probability  this  you  may  do  very  jastly.  If  so^ 
and  almost  whether  or  ni4,  you  now  lose  sight  of  it.  It  van- 
ishes from  your  view,  and  you  can  see  nothing  but  the  scenes  of 
home,  home;  and  there  your  spirit  longs  to  be,  in  this  jour  sick- 
ness; and  if  by  it  you  are  called  ana  compelled  to  die,  it  if  not 
•nly  your  choice  to  die  thei-e,  but  your  strongest,  most  intense 


and  altogether  inexpressible  desire  to  be  indulged  with  the  high 
privilege  of  taking  there  your  last  look  upon  the  scenes  of  earth, 
and  the  last  things  to  be  seen  in  that  look'to  be  the  surrounding 
faces  and  eyes  of  your  dear  friends  looking  your  departing  spiiit 
away,  away,  to  your  long,  your  eternal  home. 

Bat  oiy  friend,  you  are  here,  and  things  are  as  they  are,  and, 
you  musi  make  the  best  you  can  of  them.  It  would  be  ignorance 
^nd  presumption  in  y  )u'to  expect  to  be  as  well  treated  by  these 
strangers  as  you  would  be  by  those  who  are  bone  of  your  bone 
and  flesh  of  your  flesh.  You  must  bear  in  mind  that  before  you 
arrived  here  these  people  had,  each  one,  their  own  business  to 
attend  to;  and  you  must  consider  further,  that  to  nurse  and  wait 
on  a  diseased  person  is  one  of  the  most  unpleasant  and  disa- 
gioeal^le  duties  that  mortals  have  to  perfjrm  for  one  another. 
This  is  ihe  case  when  the  disease  is  not  contagious  or  catching, 
and  how  much  more  so  when  the  person  who  nurses  is  contin- 
ually in  danger  of  taking  the  same  disease. 

The  best  rule  by  which  to  measure  your  expectations,  is  that 
which,  from  its  unequalled  excellence  as  well  as  from  its  or- 
igin, has  obtained  the  name  among  mankind  of  '^the  Golden 
Rule."  "All  things  whatsoever  ye  would  that  men  should  do 
unto  you,  do  ye  even  so  unto  them."  In  short,  "do  as  you 
would  be  done  by.*' 

In  order  properly  to  apply  this  rule  and  to  make  the  best  use 
of  it,  you  would  do  well  to  suppose  yourself  at  home  busily 
employed  in  doing  your  own  work,  and  further^  that  some  one 
of  these  strangers  should  call  at  your  house  and  be  taken  sick. 
Perhaps  you  would  feel  it  no  smaJl  task  in  that  case  to  drop 
your  own  affairs  and  devote  yourself  to  nursing  and  waiting  on 
a.  diseased  and  loathsome  stranger.  By  this  application  of  this 
best  of  rules,  which  is  the  only  proper  application,  you  may  be 
very  considerably  guarded  and  guided  in  your  hopes  and  expec- 
tations from  these  strangers. 

If  upon  change  of  circumstances  you  would  have  to  contend 
with  a  good  deal  of  reluctance  in  your  own  breast  to  nurse 
them,  you  need  not  be  surprised  that  they  have  to  contend  with 
the  same  to  nurse  you.  That  they  will  do  it  at  all  should  be 
a  matter  of  great  thankfulness  on  your  part.  As  it  respects 
deeds  of  kindness  and  charity,  there  is  a  great  difference  not 
only  between  individuals,  but  families.  This  difference  may 
arise  out  of  a  multitude  of  things,  such  as  knowledge  and  expe- 
rience in  nursing  the  sick;  having  means  to  do  it,  and  lastly 
possessing  a  humane  and  charitable  disposition  of  mind.  But 
if  these  strangers  possess  all  these  advantages,  and  these  worthy 
and  amiable  traits  of  caiacter,  and  are  disposed  to  do  all  they 

16 


186  CONSOLATIONS  OF 

can  for  you,  in  vain  will  you  expect  to  be  as  well  attended  qs 
you  would  bo  by  tliose  who  are  bound  to  you  by  the  ties  of 
nature  and  friendship.  Should  they  obey  the  doctor's  orders 
carelessly — neglect  to  give  your  medicine  or  nourishment  at 
the  proper  time,  and  do  it  very  awkwardly  when  they  do  do  it; 
should  they  not  keep  you  clean,  should  those  of  them  who 
pretend  and  attempt  to  watch  with  you  and  wait  on  you  at 
■night,  fall  asleap  and  snore  so  as  by  their  snorings  to  add  io 
your  distresses  instead  of  alleviating  them  by  their  vigilance 
and  faithfulness,  you  need  not  be  surprised  at  any  or  all  of  these 
things.  It  is  truly  a  serious,  inces^sant,  irksome,  fatiguing  and 
exhausting  business  to  nurse  a  person  that  is  very  sick  as  it 
ought  to  be  done,  ft  requires  no  less  vigilance  and  affection 
and  skill  than  a  tender  mother  gives  to  her  infant  ten  days  old. 
Every  symptom,  and  the  slightest  change  for  the  better  or  the 
worse  should  be  observed  and  attended  to,  the  moment  it  appear*. 
More  strong  affection,  more  sleepless  and  ceaseless  attention, 
and  entire  and  unreserved  (  evotedness  can  be  found  no  where 
than  in  the  breast  of  a  kind  mother  towards  her  infant.  And  yet 
the  question  is  asked  "can  a  woman  forget  her  su'  king  child, 
that  she  should  not  have  compassion  on  the  son  of  her  womb? 
yea,  she  may  forget."  If,  then,  even  a  mother  can  forget,  how 
much  more  can  others,  and  most  of  all,  strangers. 

One  of  the  best  things  or  aids  which  you  can  have  is  money. 
I  do  not  say  it  is  the  best,  butone  of  the  l)est.  Jfyou  have  it,now 
is  the  time  to  use  it.  This  you  should  do  in  the  -nrjnst  prudent 
way.  Let  all  around  you  know  that  you  are  able  and  willing  to 
compensate  them  in  a  proper  and  reasonable  way.  Do  not 
excite  their  avarice,  for  it  is  possible  they  may  neglect  you  and  let 
you  die,  in  order  to  get  your  money.  Be  cautious  and  wise  in  the 
management  of  it,  and  every  other  thing  about  you.  I  shall  not 
enter  into  minute  particulars,  but  remind  you  that,  good  and 
useful  as  money  is,  it  is  not  love,  and  it  may  tail  to  buy  love, 
.4»r  if  it  buys,  may  buy  nothing  but  a  base,  selfish,  sordid  love. 

There  is  one  great  thing  or  matter  of  which  J  must  not  fail  to 
speak,  and  that  thing  is  character.  If  you  have  ventured  to  come 
so  far  from  home  as  you  have  without  sojne  testimonials  of  good 
character,  some  papers  from  three  or  four  or  more  men  extensive- 
ly known,  and  of  good  .moral .character  themselves  you  have  don^ 
very  wrong. 

But  perhaps  you  arc  ready  to  say  to  me,  that  these  cannot  be 
known  so  far  from  home.  Do  not  be  mistaken  my  friend,  there  is 
a  great  de  il  of  travelling  in  America,  and  there  is  scarcely  an  in- 
habited corner  in  it,  in  which  nothing  at  all  has  been  heard  or 
known  of  such  men.    And  even  if  they  had^never  been  heard  of 


THE   AFFLICTE©.  187 

here,  that  would  not  prove  that  there  are  no  such  men.  Bufif 
may  be  you  would  say  further,  that  if  there  were  such  men  and 
known  all  the  way  tu  this  place,  papers  from  them  might  do  you 
little  or  no  good.  People  might  douht  whelher  these  men  ever 
oave  you  such  papers,  and  might  Fuspect  thai  you  forged  them.  I 
know  that  bad  men  have  forged  pipers  and  thus  imposed  on  stran- 
gers.  But  this  has  not  occured  very  frequently,  and  when  they 
have  done  it  theirobject  has  been  to  gain  money  rather  than  char- 
acter, or  if  it  was  to  gain  character  and  credit,  they  most  likely 
designed  by  having  credit  to  gain  money.  You  should  have 
brought  papers  with  you  to  have  gained  the  treatment  which  is 
due  to  an  honest,  decent  and  virtuous  person.  But  perhaps  with 
you,  this  was  not  the  fact,  and  you  had  no  such  character  at 
home,  hut  instead  of  having  a  good  character  actually  had  a  bad 
one,  and  could  not  have  obtained  good  papers  without  forging 
them.  If  so,  the  defect  or  fault  was  farther  back,  and  as  much 
greater,  as  farther  back.  You  should  never  have  lived  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  have  gained  a  bad  name,  or  bad  character,  instead 
of  a  good  one.  If  this  was  your  standing  in  society  at  home, 
your  present  condition  is  truly  deplorable.  No  person  should  live 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  have  any  fear  to  be  known  any  where. 
And  every  person  who  tiavels  a  distance,  whether  he  be  a  public 
or  private  character,  or  professional  person,  a  merchant,  a  mechan- 
ic or  a  common  laborer,  should  be  perfectly  willing  to  be  known 
at  any  place.  Not  only  so,  but  h6  should  be  desirous  to  be  known , 
30  much  so  as  always  to  procure  papers  of  recommendation  and 
take  them  with  him.  And  he  should  show  by  his  countenance 
and  conduct,  as  well  as  by  his  papers,  that  he  is  an  honest,  virtu- 
ous and  worthy  person.  That  there  are  dishonest  persons  and 
deceivers,  sliould  be  no  discouragement  to  the  honest  and  virtu- 
ous, and  should  not  deter  them  from  doing  their  duty.  And  it  is 
not  only  their  duty  but  their  interest  to  be  known.  "A  good 
name  is  better  than  precious  ointment.  A  good  name  is  rather  to 
be  chosen  than  great  riches." 

But  you  say  you  have  papers  of  recommendation  and  good 
ones  too.  If  so  let  me  see  them.  I  will  read  them  and  examine 
them  carefully.  Truly  they  speak  very  well  for  you,  and  appear 
to  be  all  right.  They  contain  every  thing  that  is  necessary,  and 
there  appears  to  be  nothing  wanting.  The  whole  face  of  them 
appears  also  to  speak  the  truth,  and  to  be  no  deception.  They- 
are  just  what  you  now  need,  my  friend,  and  I  am  now  prepared  to- 
speak  unto  you  with  greater  confidence,  words  of  consolation. 
Your  course  is  plain,  if  you  have  not  already  exhibited  them,  take 
the  very  next  opportunity  to  show  them  to  these  strangers  among 
whom  it  is  your  lot  to  be  cast  and  confined  to  a  bed  of  sickness 


IBS  eoNSOLATIOXS    ©F 

Le(  me  now  adviseand  ur^e  you  to  prove  yourself  to  be  worthy 
of  such  pnpers  by  every  act  you  may  put  forth,  by  every  word  yon 
may  speak,  and  evei7  look  of  your  countenance.  Let  every  act, 
word  and  look  be  mild  and  modest.  Exhibit  all  the  patience  you 
can  possibly,  and  manifest  a  great  degree  of  reserve  in  your  de- 
•UTinds  and  requirements  of  them.  Get  along  with  as  little  wait- 
ing on  and  attention  as  jwssible,  not  to  do  yourself  too  much 
injury  by  doing  without  things  that  are  actually  necessarv  foi- 
you.  Show  them  that  you  have  very  tender  feelings  for  them,*  and 
will  spare  them  as  much  as  the  nature  of  your  case  will  admit.  By 
acting  thus  they  will  think  more  of  you,  and  more  highly  esteem 
your  character;  you  will  gain  their  love,  and  this  being  gained, 
their  care  for  you,  and  devotedness  to  you,  will  be  secured. 
Should  you  pursue  a  course  contrary  to  this,  you  would  incur, 
and  justly  too,  their  ill  will,  neglect  and  abuse.  Whereas,  by  ob- 
serving the  polite,  gentle,  humble  and  conciliatory  course,  which 
I  so  fully  and  highly  recommend  to  you,  you  can  scarcely  fail  to 
gain  their  most  decided  good  will  and  affection. 

I  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  you  at  present.  I  will  now  open 
?he  door  and  call  in  the  family,  and  say  what  I  can  to  them,  to  in- 
cline them  to  deal  favorably,  and  faithfully^  and  kindly  by  you. 
They  are  good  enough  to  drop  their  work  and  come,  and  are  all 
present.  My  friends,  you  see  this  poor  sick  mortal  whom  the 
providence  of  God  has  cast  in  among  you,  and  confined  to  thiss 
bed  of  sickness.  He  is  far  from  home  and  friends,  as  he  has  rl- 
ready  told  you,  but  this  is  a  time  with  him  when  he  peculiarly  and 
greatly  needs  both.  And  to  you,  gentle  strangers,  I  must  say  this 
is  the  time,  and  here  is  the  opportunity  for  you  to  show  your  hos- 
pitality, goodness  and  charity.  If  you  have  tender  hearts,  if  you 
have  bowelsof  mercy  and  compassion,  now  is  the  time  tor  them 
to  move  and  yearn  over  this  lonely  and  forlorn  child  of  sickness 
and  sorrow.  For  your  encouragement  I  would  inform  you,  that 
he  is  not  without  papers  of  recommendation,  which  show  who 
and  what  he  was  at  home.  To  all  appearance  the  papers  are 
good.  They  purport  to  be  signed  by  several  public  men.  The 
mail's  countenance,  and  the  simplicity  of  his  conversation  socni 
to  corroborate  the  testimony  which  the  papers  afford.  Upon  tho 
whole  I  think  we  may  safely  consider  him  to  be  a  decent  and  re- 
spectable character.  A  person  who  respects  liimself,  and  sljould 
therefore  be  respected.  Here  are  the  i)apei?,  you  can  look  at  them 
at  your  leisure,  after  you  shall  have  heard  what  few  more  things  I 
have  to  say  concerning  him.  1  would  just  remind  you,  kind  stran- 
gers, that  if  this  person  could  produce  no  written  evidence  of 
whatever  kind,  to  prove  himself  to  be  worthy  of  attention,  by  his 
countenance,  iiis  app<?arance,  his  words  or  conduct;  yea,  were  il 


THE   AFFLICTED^  189 

manifest  from  ail  these  sources,  and  from  the  disease  which  is 
upon  him,  thai  he  h  is  no  claims  at  all  to  good  character,  but  is  a 
person  of  notorious  bad  character,,  stili  it  would  be  your  duty  for 
humanity's  sake,  to  have  pity  upon  and  take  care  of  him.  But  as 
I  have  shewn  you  this  is  far  from  being  the  case,  and  there  will  be 
the  greatest  jiropriety  in  your  striving  to  do  so  well  by  him  that  no 
body  could  do  better. 

In  tlie  management  of  this  forlorn  stranger,  as  it  respects  youi- 
selverr?,  much  is  involved.  Your  reputation  among  your  neighbors 
and  mankind  in  general.  The  future  approbation  of  your  own 
consciences,  when  you  shall  look  back  upon  the  scene  which  you 
are  now  passing  through,  will  depend  upon  your  faithfulness  at 
the  present  time.  And  what  is  most  and  highest  of  all,  the  appro- 
bation and  praise  of  God  himself  If  then  you  would  act  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  be  able  to  say  with  pious  Job — "The  stranger  did 
not  lodge  in  the  street,  but  1  opened  my  door  to  the  traveller," 
look  well  to  what  you  now  do.  There  is  a  high  command  of  the  High- 
est, long  ago  given,  which  reads  thus — "The  stranger  that  dwelleth 
with  you,  shall  be  unto  you  as  one  born  among  you,  and  thou 
shalt  love  him  as  thyself"  Would  you  observe  this  command  in 
all  its  breadth  and  length,  you  would  make  yourselves,  in  your  feel- 
ings and  in  your  efforts,  brothers  and  sisters  unto  this  poor  suffer- 
ing, travelling  stranger.  You  will  love  him  as  yourselves.  You 
will  consider  that  it  is  as  hard  for  him  to  be  sick  as  one  of  your- 
selves— that  he  can  suffer  as  milch,  and  that  his  sufferings  are  as 
great  to  him,  as  such  would  be  to  you,  and  even  more,  as  he  is  in 
a  land  of  strangers.  My  dear  hospitable  Strang  rs.  I  now  feel  confi- 
dent th  it  you  will  do  so  well  and  so  much  for  this  sick,  this  lonely 
and  disconsolate  traveller,thatattiieend  it  may  indeed  be  safely  said 
that  none  could  have  done  more.  But  should  you,  it  would  not  still 
be  equal  to  the  attention  and  care  of  relations.  For  this  there  is  no 
substitute,  no  equal,  in  all  the  earth,  among  all  the  sons  of  men. 
Nciveriheh'ss  be  not  discouraged,  come  as  near  to  it  as  you  can.  Try 
to  think  of  every  thing  that  will  in  the  least  minister  to  his  relief 
and  comfort.  Write  letters  to  his  friends,  if  he  wishes  you  to  do  fco. 
Request  tli€  neighbors  to  come  in  and  see  him;  particularly  the 
df^cent,  the  virtuous  and  the  pious;  that  they  may  converse  widi 
him,  and  revive  and  encourage  him.  And  here  I  would  subjoin  a 
caution  which  I  always  consider  important,  yes  indispensible. 
'i'he  caution  is,  for  you  to  prevent  his  being  injured  and  oppressed 
by  too  much  company.  Sick  persons  are  very  frequently  much 
injured  by  the  superabundant  kindness  and  over  ofiici(!Usnes3  of 
ijJHorant  and  talkative  visitors.  Do  not  trust  him  to  be  nursed  by 
Jjired  men  or  slave?,     It  will  be  the  doctor's  dutv  to  keep  an  eve 

16^  ' 


wo  C©I!JS0LATI0NS   OF 

over  you,  and  no  less  yours  to  keep  an  eye  over  liim,  to  see  that 
he  is  faithful,  especially  as  the  patient  is  a  stranger. 

Upon  the  whole,  my  very  dear,  kind-hearted  and  hospitable  stran- 
gers, I  shall  now  rest  assured  that  you  are  fully  inclined  andpre- 
pared  to  do  all  that  is  in  your  power  to  aid  this  poor  &iok  mortal. 
When  you  see  him  turning,  and  writhing,  and  tossing,  and 
hear  him  groaning  with  pain,  go  to  him,  and-  feel  for  him, 
and  let  him  see  that  you  do  feel  for  him.  When  you 
see  the  tears  of  sorrow  and  anguish  rolling  down  his  pale,  feeble 
and  disconsolate  cheeks,  gently  wipe  them  away  and  synjpathize 
with  him.  "When  you  see  hope  upon  the  summit  of  his  counte- 
nance, rising  and  threatening  to  mount  upon  the  wing,  to  take  ile 
departure  and  flight,  and  the  glooms  of  discouragement  and  des- 
pondency gathering  to  take  the  seat  it  has  hitherto  retained,  then 
draw  nigh  and  smile,  smile  pleasantly,  and  speak  familiar  and 
most  affectionate  words,  reviving  words,  words  of  life,  and  thus 
draw  back  and  detain  departing  hope,  that  it  may  again  brighten 
his  countenance,  and  revive  and  strengthen  his  heart.  And  last- 
ly, should  it  be  the  appointment  of  kind  heaven,  for  you  to  see 
Lis  feeble  head  drooping,  and  fainting,  and  sinking,  and  to  feel 
his  hand  becoming  cold,  and  his  pulse  to  be  "faint  and  few,'* 
stand  over  him,  and  let  your  countenances  appear  calm,  and  com* 
posed,  and  pleasant,  and  speak  to  him  mildly,  but  with  great  con- 
lidence  of  the  great  God  and  of  the  Saviour  "who  is  mighty  to  save, 
even  unto  the  uttermost,  all  that  come  unto  God  by  him,"  and 
advise  him  peacefully,  and  with  unshaken  confidence  to  sink  into 
the  arms  of  this  mighty  Saviour.  Do  all  these  things  I  say,  if 
you  should  be  called  to  them,  and  look  not  for  your  reward  on 
earth,  but  look  for  your  reward  on  high,  at  the  hand  of  jjim  wha 
will  say — "I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye  took  me  in.  I  was  sick  and 
ye  visited  me."  And  who  has  already  said — "Whosoever  shall 
oive  to  drink  unto  one  of  these  little  ones  a  cup  of  cold  water 
only  in  the  name  of  a  disciple,  verily  1  say  unto  you,  he  shall  i& 
:]0  wise  lose  his  reward." 

And  now,  patient,  I  must  subjoin  a  few  more  words  to  youj. 
before  I  take  my  leave  and  depart.  It  cannot  be  that  I  have  yet 
discharged  all  my  doty  to  you.  I  have  said  every  thing  that  oc- 
Guned  to  my  miridr,  which  I  thought  worth  saying,  on  the  subject 
of  your  being  a  sick  stranger  among  strangers,  but  you  are  a 
very  sick  stranger,  and  there  is  quite  a  high  probability  that  you 
will  not  recover  nor  return  to  your  earthly  Jiome  and  friends,,  and 
I  have  yet  made  no  inquiry  of  you,  and  not  said  a  word  to  you 
about  your  seeking  another  and  better  and  more  lasting  home  m. 
the  world  to  come.  This  I  must  certainly  do,  or  fail  to  accom- 
plish a  main  part  of  my  work  of  eonsolation,     1  have  undertaken 


THE   AFFLICTED.  191 

to  console  the  afflicted  in  view  of  life  or  death.  And  unless  you 
oan  give  me  good,  and  strong,  and  satisfactory  reasons  why  you 
should  not  be  spoken  to  on  the  subject  of  death,  and  white  your 
strength  is  greater  than  it  may  be  before  many  days,  I  think  my 
kindness  and  regard  for  you  should  not  slop  here,  but  i  should 
proceed  with  all  tenderness  and  faithfulness  to  do  it.  Unless  you 
can  prove  to  me  thai  you  are  a  being,  an  animal  altogether  different 
from  other  human  animals,  and  have  no  foresight  or  forelooking 
to  the  future,  that  you  are  a  being  without  feeling,  hopes  or  fears; 
and  this  I  think  you  cannot  do.  And  if  I  speak  to  you  at  all,  to 
console  and  encourage  you,  in  view  of  what  is  beyond  deuth, 
there  is  no  thing  or  being  of  which,  in  all  my  travels,  and  studies, 
and  researches,  I  have  been  able  to  make  the  least  discovery, 
out  of  which,  or  whom,  strong  and  satisfactory  consolation  can 
arise,  but  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ  the  Son  of  the 
living  God.  He,  and  He  only,  is  the  dying  man's  hope.  It  will 
be  unnecessary  for  me  to  speak  to  you  of  Him  at  length.  There 
is  no  way  in  winch  I  couUl  do  it,  without  repeating  more  or  less 
of  what  I  have  already  said  to  others.  To  that,  any,  or  all  of  it, 
I  now  refer  you. 

But  my  friend,  there  is  one  view  of  your  case  and  condition 
which  I  think  it  highly  proper  and  desirable  to  present  to  you 
before  I  leave  you.  And  this  is  the  thought,  that  you  are  not 
only  a  stranger  in  this  part  of  the.  world,  but  a  stranger  in  all  the 
world,  even  if  you  were  at  home.  A  considerable  number  of  the 
best  men  of  whom  we  have  ever  heard  or  had  any  knowledge, 
and  who  lived  longer  than  it  is  common  for  men  to  live  in  oor- 
day,  confessed  themselves  to  be  '•strangers  and  pilgrims  x)n 
the  earth."  "They  desired  a  better  country,  that  is,  a  heavenly: 
wherefore  God  is  not  ashamed  to  be  called  their  God :  for  he  hath- 
prepared  for  them  a  city" — that  is,  another  home,  and  a  fine  one^ 
a  city.  Should  you  get  worse,  your  pains  become  greater,  and 
your  symptoms  more  alarming,  and  should  you  by  dreadful  sick- 
ness lose  sight  of  that  home  to  which  your  thoughts  tend  and 
centre,  like  the  needle  to  the  pole;  and  after  which  your  heart 
greatly  and  steadily  longs,  then  realize  and  be  sensible  that  you 
are  indeed  a  sojourner,  a  stranger  and  a  pilgrim  on  the  earth — 
that  you  "have  here  no  continu-ing  city,  and  seek  one  to  come.^ 
Lift  your  thoughts,  and  the  longings  of  your  heart,  above  the  earth, 
and  look  down  upon  the  earth  as  a  place  where  strangers,  wayfaring 
men  turn  aside  to  tarry  for  a  short  season,  and  thus  consider  it  no- 
great  n>atter  whether  you  ever  see  your  old  home  again  or  not^ 
and  let  your  thoughts  and  desires  centre  upon  a  higher  and  better 
home,  "a  city  which  hath  foundations,  whose  builder  and  maker 
is  God,"  a  heavenly  aod  happy  home.-    And  rejoice,  O  thoi? 


198  consolatio:n9  of 

stranger!  thou  afflicted  stranger!  that  though  thou  art  a  stranger - 
here  to  men,  ihou  mayest  not  be  a  stranger  to  God.  God  is  a 
stranger  no  where;  He  is  in  all  places;  He  is  every  where.  He 
can  draw  nigh  here  as  hastily  and  help  you,  and  comfort,  and 
encourage,  and  support  you,  living  or  dying,  as  effectually  as  he 
could  if  you  were  at  home.  "God  is  no  respecter  of  persons: 
but  in  every  nation  he  that  feareth  him,  and  worketh  righteousness, 
is  accepted  of  him."  In  every  nation,  and  of  course  in  all  parts 
and  places  of  every  nation.  As  well  here  where  you  are  now,  as 
in  tlie  place  from  which  you  came.  And  let  it  be  all  that  encour- 
agement you  n^ed,  that  it  is  written — "Whosoever  shall  call  upon 
the  name  of  the  Lord  shall  be  saved."  At  tiie  same  time  be  cire- 
ful  to  call  in  a  prop'^r  manner,  with  all  your  heart,  feeling  your 
need  of  salvation,  and  your  utter  helplessness  to  save  yourself; 
for  it  is  also  written — "Not  every  one  that  saith  unto  me.  Lord, 
Lord,  shall  enter  into  the  ki«gdom  of  heaven."  C  ill  then,  upon 
the  name  of  the  Lord  with  your  whole  soul,  and  you  shall  be 
saved.  And  thus  you  may  find  consolation  in  this  strange  land, 
living  or  dying,  which  was  the  thing  to  be  found,  and  which 
brings  me  to  a  close  of  all  I  undertook  for  you.  And  now,  af- 
flicted stranger,  I  bid  you  farewell,  and  go  on  my  way  to  console 
-others. 

July  Ihth^  1830. 


FOR  THE  AGED  IN  AFFLICTION. 

So  many  are  the  ills  and  calamities  of  life,  so  many  are  the 
afflictions  of  the  youth  and  of  the  middle  aged,  that  but  a  small 
part  of  t!ie  human  family  arrive  at  old  age, — but  very  few  are 
permitted  to  number  three  score  years  and  ten.  Here  I  feel  it 
necessary  again  to  say,  that  tiiis  is  a  world  of  sin  and  therefore  of 
misery.  Because  all  have  sinned,  there  is  no  reason  why  we 
should  wonder  that  the  great  body  of  mankind  should  he  afflicted, 
and  distressed,  and  smitten,  and  cut  off  in  the  earlier  stages  of 
life.  Such  is  the  fact  however,  and  the  more  mournful  part  of  it 
is,  that  a  large  majority  of  these  do  not  arrive  at  the  prime  of 
life. 

Notwithstanding  a  few  of  the  whole  are  permitted  to  advance 
not  only  to  the  prime,  but  to  go  beyond  to  old  age.  1  do  not  pre- 
tend in  this  work,  to  fix  an  exact  limit  at  which  persons  become 
®ld.  I  sh  ill  speak  of  them  as  advanced  in  yeir^.  It  is  fur  the 
afflicted  am<»ng  those  for  whom  I  now  purpose  to  seek  consola- 
tion,   But  why  do  1  say  for  those  among  ihem?  are  not  all  oW 


THE    AFFLtifrED,  l9S 

persons,  or  very  nearly  all,  afflicted?  Can  one  among  a  thousand 
of  them  be  found  who  enjoys  good  health?  Scarcely.  This 
class  of  mankind,  therefore,  will  differ  from  most  of  those  whom 
I  have  already  attempted  to  console,  by  its  being  a  small  class, 
and  from  all  otiicrs  by  there  being  very  few  in  it  exempt  from 
afiliciion. 

The  afflictions  which  are  peculiar  to  old  persons  are  the  infirm- 
ities of  old  a^o,  as  they  are  very  commonly  and  very  properly 
called.  I  say  peculiar,  1  do  not  mean  that  they  arc  not  at  all  sub- 
ject to  sudden  and  periodical  diseases:  for  such  not  only  afflict 
them  greatly,  but  often  take  them  off.  1  mean  that  it  is  not  so 
common  for  them  to  be  afflicted  and  torn  by  sue!;  attacks,  as  it  is 
for  them  to  be  worn  and  wasted  by  the  infirmities  of  old  age. 
Th-y  aie  almost  all  chronic  patients;  and  as  such  T  shall  view 
them  and  speak  to  them,  in  what  T  am  about  to  say;  not  forget- 
ting, however,  that  they  too  may  be  scorched  with  a  raging  fever, 
exhausted  by  choleia  morbus  or  dysentery,  distressed  by  convul- 
sive fits,  or  thrown  into  anguish  by  violent  cholic,  or  any  other  of 
the  sudden  diseases  which  seize  upon  the  sons  and  daughters  of 
sorrow  and  wo. 

The  aged  arc  those  to  whom  much  is  due  on  many  accounts. 
They  are  our  fiitliers  and  mothers.  By  them  we  received  ouf 
existence;  they  nourished  us  in  out  infancy,  and  provided  for  us 
in  our  youth,  and  counseled  and  guided  us  in  our  riper  years. 
We  are  in  debt  to  them,  and  our 'debt  is  great,  we  owe  them  much. 
We  are  bound  by  many  weighty  and  solemn  obligations  to  pro- 
vide for  all  their  wants,  and  to  treat  them  most  affectionately  and 
tenderly,  and  lO  do  all  in  our  power  to  make  smooth  and  easy  the 
short  remains  of  that  path  of  life,  which  their  aged- and  feeble 
feet  have  yet  to  tread.  As  a  civilized,  evangelized  and  enligiiten- 
cd  nation,  we  should  set  an  ^mblemished  and  perfect  example  to 
the  whole  world,  in  our  treatment  of  our  flnhers  and  mothers, 
wlioso  long  and  laborious  toils,  and  great  experience;  and  whose 
grey  heids  and  hoary  locks  clothe  them  witli  reverence,  and  call 
for  much  resgfct  from  all  juniors  and  inferiors.  And  those 
among  them  who  have  peculiar  afflictions,  have  greater  demrnds 
upon  our  care,  and  attention,  and  sympathies.  We  should  re- 
member that  wc  too  may  be  old,  and  as  we  treat  them,  so  will  we 
likely  be  treated.  The  ancient  nations  treated  their  old  pf^oplc 
with  much  respect. and  esteem.  The  Egyptians  embalmed  their 
fathers  when  they  died,  and  kept  them  in  their  houses  standing 
on  their  feet  ajjainst  their  v.alls,  wifh  their  faces  outwards,  for 
years.  The  command  given  to  the  descendants  of  Abraham,  was 
*-<"Honor  tliy  fither  and  thy  mother,  that  thy  d.ys  may  be  \ono 
in  the  land.*'     The  reason  of  this  command  is  manifest.     Should 


IW  *      CdWSatATIOKS   OF 

they  not  honor  the  aged,  but  put  them  to  death,  when  they 
become  old  or  less  serviceable,  or  helpless,  (tis  some  heathen  na- 
tions now  d<  )  they  in  turn  would  be  pui  to  death  by  those  younger 
tJian  thenasc^lves,  when  they  become  old,  and  so  their  days  could 
not  be  long  in  the  land.  Tberefbre,  it  was  further  said — *'Heark- 
en  to  thy  father  that  begat  thee,  and  despise  not  thy  mother  when 
she  is  old.  Cursed  be  he  that  setteth  light  by  his  father  or  his 
mother,  and  all  the  people  shallsay,  Amen."  The  Romans  and 
Grecians  would  rise  with  the  utmost  respect,  and  give  place,  and 
give  seats,  when  the  aged  came  in. 

Cicero  says — "We  ought  to  hold  our  parents  most  dear,  because 
from  them  was  delivered  to  us,  life,  matrimony,  liberty  and  cit- 
izenship." Another  Latin  writer  says — "Make  yourself  such  to- 
wards your  parents  as  you  would  desire  your  children  to  be  to- 
wards you."  And  I  must  even  delay  briefly  to  relate  what  Plu- 
tarch and  Lidy  tell  us  of  Coriolanus,  a  brave  general  of  the  Ro- 
mans. They  say — "After  doing  much  for  his  country,  he  was, 
by  a  decree  of  the  people,  banished.  He  went  to  a  neigoboring 
nation,  the  Volsci.  They  immediately  made  him  one  of  their 
generals,  to  head  their  armies  against  the  Romans,  his  own  people. 
He  rapidly  conquered  many  of  their  towns.  Tliey  became  alarm- 
ed, and  sent  orators  to  beg  for  peace.  The  orators  carried  back  a 
fierce  answer.  They  were  sent  again,  he  would  not  admit  them 
into  his  camp.  The  Priests,  a  more  sacred  order  of  men,  clothed 
in  their  most  sacred  attire,  were  sent,  but  all  in  vain.  At  length 
Coriolanus'  mother,  an  aged  woman  took  his  wife  having  two  sons, 
and  also  took  a  large  company  of  women,  and  went  to  the  camp. 
It  was  announced  to  Coriolanus  that  a  large  band  of  women  had 
come.  But  he,  who  could  not  be  moved  by  the  public  majesty 
of  the  legates,  nor  by  religion  in  the  Priests,  was  much  more  ob- 
stinate against  the  tears  of  the  women,  until  he  saw  his  aged 
mother,  when  he  exclaimed — "Thou  hast  overcome  and  conquered 
my  anger,  O  my  country,  by  my  mother's  prayers,  for  whose  sake 
I  now  forgive  thy  injury  done  to  me.  And  he  immediately  deliv- 
ered Rome  from  hostile  arms." 

All  that  are  not  themselves  aged,  should  vie  with  one  another, 
and  stiive  to  see  who  could  treat  the  aged  in  the  most  becoming 
and  proper  manner.  It  is  true,  that — "The  glory  of  young  men 
is  their  strength:  and  the  beauty  of  old  men  is  the  grey  head. 
Yea,  the  hoary  head  is  a  crown  of  glory,  if  it  be  found  in  the 
way  of  righteousness."  A  crown  of  glory,  yes,  a  crown  of  sur- 
passing and  unequalled  glory.  If  it  be  found  in  the  way  of 
righteousness,  not  all  the  fields  of  nature  furnish  a  cluster  or  head 
of  flowers  blooming  with  such  transcendent  splendor  and  loveli- 
ness; and  the  crowns  that  kings  and  conquerers  wear  are  heavy > 


IHE    AFFUCTJU^.  iUX» 


?i^ge<!  and  uncomely,  in  comparison  to  those  which  crown  the 
eelds.  Therefore  the  crown,  the  hoary  crown,  that  rests  upon 
the  \\ead  of  the  riiihleous,  is  the  crown  of  crowns  here  below. 
It  indicates  that  he  who  wears  the  crown  of  tiie  universe  above,? 
has  favored  his  subject  on  earth  with  many  days,  and  permitted 
him  to  become  a  veteran  soldier  in  his  service  among  men. 

I  must  confess  that  such  a  crown,  such  a  hoary  head,  with  its 
silver  locks,  has  always  called  forth  my  heart's  highest  admira- 
tion and  esteem.  But  when  it  is  on  the  head  of  one  who  is  not 
in  the  way  of  righteousness,  its  glory  is  eclipsed.  Of  all  the 
things  I  ever  meet,  such  a  crown  covering  a  wicked  head,  and 
-having  under  it  a  bad  heart,  a  profane  mouth,  and  hands  that 
work  iniquity  and  crime,  is  to  me  tlie  most  unlovely  and  hateful. 
An  old,  grey-headed  sinner,  son  of  vice,  drinking,  swearing,  bad 
mai,  who  can  love?  He  has  long  abused  the  abounding  favors 
and  kind  offers  cf  the  God  of  mercy  and  grace.  He  has  had  one 
year  added  to  another,  till  the  amount  has  become  great,  and  ^  iod 
is  adding  still  another,  to  see  if  he  will  not  even  yet  turn  out  of 
the  broad  way  that  leadeth  to  destruction,  into  the  way  of  right- 
eousness, that  thus  (he  hoary  crown  of  sin  and  shame  that  is  now 
upon  his  head,  may  shine  forth  in  all  the  Itistre  of  righteousness 
and  become  a  crown  of  glory.  To  all  such,  and  especially  m 
those  of  you,  who  are  afflicted,  this  would  be  my  brief  but  most 
earnest  exhortation,  to  turn  in»o,the  way  of  righteousness,  that 
your  hoary  crowns  may  indeed  come  from  under  their  obscure 
and  horrid  eclipse,  and  pour  forth  their  tight  like  the  sun  when 
he  comes  out  of  an  eclipse  in  his  full  strength.  I  shall  not  .tarry 
here  to  reiterate  the  culls,  and  offers,  and  warnings,  and  threaten- 
ings  of  God,  which  have  been  so  often,  and  even  till  now,  lost 
upon  you.  I  shall  just  remind  you,  that — "He  that  being  often 
reproved  hardeneth  his  neck,  shall  suddenly  be  destroyed,  and 
that  without  remedy."  Your  time  is  short,  if  this  sickness  does 
not  take  you  off,  old  age  soon  will.  The  afflictions  that^re  now 
on  you  are  another  warnings  and  my  voice  is  now  added  to  it 
You  must  at  last,  even  at  this  eleventh  hour,  believe,  repent,  and 
turn  out  of  the  broad  way,  into  the  way  of  righteousness,  or  these 
hoary  heads  of  yours,  will  certainly,  (I  say  certainly,  and  mean 
what  I  say,  for  God  means  the  same,)  go  down,  and  sink,  under 
a  dark,  dark,  and  eternal  eclipse;  you  will  sudden!)  be  destroyed, 
and  that  without  remedy.  I  can  see  no  reason  why  you  do  not 
jaeed  consolations,  nor  why  they  would  not  do  you  as  much  good, 
as  any  of  all  the  discotisolate  sons  and  daughters  of  jnen.  And 
if  yf)U  would  seek  and  find  them,  you  cannot  do  it  in  the  world- 
ling's hope,  in  the  hope  of  this  world,  becajuse  you  roust  soon  bp 


torn  from  it.     You  must  seek  and  find  them  in  the  Christianas 
hope,  the  higher,  and  hoher,  and  happier  hope  of  a  better  world. 

And  now  my  fellow  mortals,  O  ye  aged,  hoary  headed,  thought- 
less, heedless,  decrepid,  affiicted  sons  and  daugliters  of  vice  and 
wickedness,  bending  over  your  graves,  if  all  other  exhorlafions 
and  warnings  have  been  lost  upon  you,  may  not  these  of  mine! 
I  must  now  leave  you,  but  before  I  go  I  will  just  tell  you,  that 
whether  you  wish  me  or  not,  I  shall  most  earnestly,  with  all  my 
heart,  put  up  ray  prayers  to  Almighty  God  for  you,  wlio  can 
even  yet  console  and  save  you,  if  he  will.  Farewell — I  go  on  my 
way  to  converse  with  and  to  console  the  hoary  headed,  who  are  in 
the  way  of  rigirteousness,  and  whose  hoary  heads  are  therefore 
Clowns  of  glory  unto  them. 

Aged,  reverend,  worthy,  but  afflicted  friend,  it  has  now  become 
my  duty,  and  fallen  to  my  lot  to  visit  you  in  your  declining  days, 
when  afflictions  are  upon  you.  You  have  lived  long  and  passed 
through  many  trying  scenes,  but  have  also  had  yovr  share  of  the 
enjoyments  of  life.  No  doubt  you  are  surprised  to  find  yourself 
here  still.  You  have  come  through  ii«nuri5e;able  dangers  seen 
and  unseen,  which  forty,  or  fifty,  or  sixty  years  ago,  you  looked 
forward  to,  and  then  had  not  the  least  expectation  to  pass 
through  them  all  without  falling  by  some  one  or  another  of  them. 
Perhaps  sickness  has  torn  your  frame  and  shaken  you  over  ihe 
grave  repeatedly.  It  may  be  you  have  had  many  hairbfeidth 
escapes  from  death,  threatened  by  storms  of  wind,  by  lightning, 
by  fire,  by  horses  and  by  all  kinds  of  perils,  on  land  and  on 
water. 

The  world  is  continually  changing.  There  is  a  restless  spirit 
in  man  svhich  incessantly  pushes  him  on  from  one  thing  to 
another.  The  manners  and  customs  of  the  people  do  not  remain 
exactly  the  same,  ten,  or  even  five  years.  They  change  their 
language,  their  peculiar  phrases  and  modes  of  speaking — their 
dress,  and  even  their  raod'-s  of  worship,  yes,  and  I  may  say, 
even  the  shapes  of  their  bodies.  These  changes,  in  addition  to 
all  the  c.ires,  and  woes,  and  trials,  and  cal-imities  to  which  man 
is  liible,  greatly  affected  you  aS  you  were  growing  old.  The 
world,  as  you  fiist  became  acquainted  with  it,  and  to  which 
your  habits  and  customs  we'e  conformed,  was  no  longer  the 
same.  A  large  part  of  those  who  wet-e  of  your  age,  and  with 
whom  you  grew  up,  fell  by  your  side,  now  one,  and  then 
another,  until  your  ranks  have  become  thin,  and  have  b<^en  getting 
thinner  and  thinner  still,  till  now  there  is  but  here  and  there  one 
or  two  of  your  first  associates  lo  be  found;  and  you  are  lit- 
erally and  truly  the  few  among  the  many,  and  are  surrounded 
by  what  is  to  you.  another  and  a  new  world.     This  has  long 


ago  made  you  feel  strange  and  unpleasant,  and  these  strange 
and  unpleasynt  feelings  grow  upon  you  as  you  get  older,  and 
particuiuly  when  vou  hear  of  still  another,  and  anr)ther  of  your 
aged  equals  dropping  off.  Long  ago  yon  felt  as  if  ynur  world 
was  dead,  if  you  were  not,  as  the  aged  poet  speaks  of  himself, 


ryhen  he  says — 


"VV^ith  me  that  time  is  come,  my  world  is  dead, 
A  new  world  rises,  and  new  manners  reign: 

What  a  pert  race  starts  up!  the  strangers  gaze, 
And  I  at  thtm ;  my  neighbor  is  unknown." 

in  the  conduct  of  the  pert  race  that  started  up  around  yoi^^ 
.^-ou  saw  so  many  things  contrary  to  yotir  own  views  and  feelings 
that  you  not  only  gazed  but  could  not  restrain  your  mind  from 
finding  fault.  And  ju?t  so  they  felt  and  acted  towards  you.  I 
have  no  doubt  that  in  m^ny  things,  things  that  are  indifferent  in  a 
moral  point  of  viev/,  you  «ind  they  have  both  acted  improperly, 
and  unnecessarily  widened  the  breach  between  you.  Nothing  is 
more  common  between  the  young  and  the  old.  It  would  have 
tended  greatly  to  your  peace  and  to  their  profit,  if  in  all  such 
things  you  had  made  pioper  allowances  for  them,  and  they  for 
you.  Perhaps  you  think  you  have  done  a  great  deal  of  that,  and 
it  may  be  you  have.  If  so,  you  have  given  them  much  instruction, 
and  they  have  given  you  much  <!omfort.  If  you  are  to  be  spared 
still  lonaer,  do  not" ft.il  to  pursue  this  course,  and  good  results 
will  follow.  But  you  should  never  have  winked  at  their  vices 
and  sins,  but  with  all  prudence  taught,  reproved,  and  warned 
them,  and  should  do  so  still,  if  life  is  spared.  There  is  no  case 
in  which  there  should  be  more  bearing  and  forbearing,  than  be- 
tween the  old  and  the  young.  It  never  whs  the  design  of  God 
that  only  one  generation  should  be  on  the  eirth  at  a  time.  On 
the  contrary,  he  has  always  had  several  generations  at  once,  mixed 
all  through  one  another,  for  the  mutual  advantage  of  the  whole. 
He  very  often  has  the  father  and  the  mother,  their  children,  theit 
children's  children,  and  the  children  of  them,  all  living  at  once, 
and  mingling  together.  That  is,  the  great  grand  children,  enjoy' 
ing  the  society  of  their  parents,  their  grand  parents,  and  their 
great  grand  parents.!  And  in  all  this,  we  see  the  most  striking 
wisdom.  Dreadful  would  be  the  state  of  mankind,  if  only  one 
generation  sJiould  live  at  a  time.  The  grass  and  herbage  of  the 
fields,  the  wheat  and  barley,  the  cotton  and  corn  spring  np  in  the 
spring— wither  and  fall  in  autumn,  and  are  dead  in  winter.    Were 


tThis  is  at  this  moment  true  uf  my  own  woithy  and  honored  parents. 

17 


)08  CONSOLATIONS  OF 

this  the  stale  of  man,  how  ignorant  be  would  be!  who  would  in- 
struct him?  how  entirely  would  he  be  unmanned,  curtailed  of 
his  intellectual  powers,  and  shorn  of  his  superior  and  lordly 
glories ! 

But  this  is  not  the  state  and  condition  of  the  human  family. 
On  the  contrary,  as  I  have  said,  several  generations  are  on  the 
stage  at  the  same  time.  The  older  are  spared  to  instruct  the 
younger,  and  all,  from  the  oldest  to  the  youngest,  have  their  re- 
spective duties  to  perform  to  one  another.  Every  one  has  ap- 
pointed unto  him  or  her,  by  Providence,  his  or  her  proper  pluce 
and  station,  and  his  or  her  proper  and  appropriate  part  to  perform. 
If  they  V.  ill  observe  the  pointings,  and  directions  of  Providence, 
as  attentively  as  they  ought,  they  will  seldom,  or  never,  be  at  a  loss 
to  know  their  part — their  duty — and  in  what  manner  it  becotnes 
them  to  perform  it,  when  it  leads  them  to  act  towards  one  another. 

Much  of  the  happiness  and  comfort  of  the  human  family  de- 
pends upon  the  rminner  in  which  these  several  social  duties  are 
performed.  In  the  performing  of  them,  there  is  a  strong  tenden- 
cy and  propensity  in  all,  to  encroach  upon  others.  Superiors 
upon  inferiors,  and  inferiors  upon  superiors.  Fathers  upon  chil- 
dren, and  children  upon  fathers.  With  respect  to  infants  and 
children  of  the  age  of  four,  or  five,  all  will  agree  that  they 
should  be  treated  as  parerrts  and  guardians  think  best,  as  they 
cannot  thmk  for  themselves,  or  at  least  cannot  think  right.  One 
of  the  greatest  difficulties  in  all  social  life,  arises  out  of  the  dan- 
ger and  propensity  of  parents  continuing  too  long  to  think  for 
their  children,  and  the  children  thinking  too  soon  that  they  ought 
to  be  allowed  to  think  for  themselves.  On  the  part  of  the 
parents,  when  it  is  carried  too  far,  it  becomes  sovereignty  nut  of 
its  place,  and  suppresses  that  indep<^ndence  and  self  command, 
which  children,  as  they  grow  up  and  approach  manhood,  and 
womanhood,  should  be  allowed  gradually  to  assume.  The  de- 
nial  of  this,  p'oduces  from  the  children,  rough  and  nntender 
treatment  of  the  parents.  And  on  the  pirt  of  the  children,  the 
tendency  and  propensity  is  to  assume  these  rights  and  privileges 
too  sorn,  which  produces  in  the  parents  a  very  rigid  exefc^Fr  of 
soverei^mty  over  thorn.  The  whole  brings  about  much  unh  ppi- 
ness,  ind  it  is  for  <he  want  of  both  knowing  the  exact  extent  of 
thei'  riahts,  and  being  disposed  to  go  to  thu  extent,  and  content 
there  to  stop.  A  vast  amount  of  social  difficulties,  of  heirt- 
burnings,  aird  heart-ichings,  would  be  prevented  in  society,  'f  all 
would  study,  and  strive,  in  n  proper  and  laudable  m;uiner,  to  go 
to  ^hat  extent,  and  no  farther.  It  is  not  always  age  that  makes 
euperiority.  T  lents  and  acquirements,  merit,  intelhcturd  and 
jiQoral,  have  much  more  to  do  in  this  business  than  age.    But  this 


THE    AFFLICTED.  199 

is  the  most  difficult  truth  or  lesson  in  the  world,  for  aged  persons 
to  loiirn.  It  is  almost  impossible  for  them  to  prevail  upon  them- 
selves to  believe,  that  a  certain  young  person,  born  perhaps  after 
they  were  forty  or  fifty  years  old,  should  know  more  than  they  do. 
And  this  inclines  them  always  to  be  finding  fault,  finaing  fault, 
spe;ikii»g  of  the  ignorance,  arroghnceand  presump-ion  of  the  as- 
suming youths.  And  it  makes  them  unhappy.  I  do  not  mean 
that  they  should  not  see  and  condema  the  ignorance,  arrogance 
and  presumption  of  those  youths  who  are  truly  ignorant, arrogtmt 
and  presumptuous;  but  {  do  mean  that  they  should  allow  virtuous, 
talented  and  meritorious  youna  persons  all  that  credit  that  is  due 
to  them.  And  J  do  further  say,  that  respect  is  due  to  the  aged, 
from  all  juniors,  solely  upon  the  ground  of  their  being  aged, 
and  a  vast,  unspeakable  am«)unt,  when  they  are  not  only  aged  but 
virtuous,  wise  and  meritorious. 

How  it  has  fared  with  you,  and  how  you  have  got  along  in  all 
these  matters,  my  awd  friend,  you  know.  Whether  you  have 
been  treated,  under  all  circumstances,  as  you  should  have  been,  or 
Rot,  you  at  least  have  your  opinion.  But  perhaps  you  feel  ready 
to  enquire  of  me,  what  good  it  will  now  do  you,  for  me  to  talk  to 
you  about  the  past.  My  object  is  to  prepare  your  mind  for  what 
I  have  yet  to  say  to  you,  concerning  the  present  and  the  future. 
Ag;iin,  others,  as  they  are  growing  old,  may  be  profited  by  the 
hirts  which  I  have  dropped.  Saying  therefore,  nothing  more 
about  how  much  or  how  little  consolation  you  received  from  any 
or  all  sources,  in  passing  through  your  former  scenes  of  affliction, 
lei  us  look  arourjd  for  nil  we  can  now  find. 

In  the  first  pli^ce,  if  you  c  re  amending  and  do  attend  carefully 
to  what  T  have  said,  with  regard  to  the  rights  of  old  f'nd  young,  I 
presume  you  are  receiving,  .  nd  will  receive  all  that  nursin2[,  and 
cnre,  and  tende.ness  from  those  about  you,  that  it  is  in  their 
power  to  give.  I  take  it  for  granted  that  you  have  been  a  faithful 
laborer,  and  a  true  friend  to  others  in  your  day;  and  that  whenever 
if  Wis  your  duty  to  nurse  the  sick,  or  the  aged  and  feeble,  vou 
diti  not  in  the  le'.st  shrink  from  your  duly,  l»ut  performed  it  with 
cbeei fulness  -^nd  const  incy,  however  unpleisnt  and  ws^arisome. 
Much  is  always  due  to  such,  for  the  good  they  have  done.  Rg-^ 
Djiiid  those  about  you  then,  mr»st  cauMonsly.  tenderly  and  affec- 
ionitely,  how  kind  and  fai;hful  you  h^ve  been  to  the  sick,  the 
aged,  the  feeble  and  the  helpless;  and  be  a  of  them  to  treat  you 
mildly  and  affectionately,  and  not  to  let  you  suffer  for  any  thing 
which  would  in  thelenst  tend  to  your  relief  and  comfort.  And 
as  the  infirmities  and  frailties  of  life,  and  especially  of  old  age, 
a'e  uunvoidnMe,  and  as  you  an;  now  quite  advmced,  and  it  is 
niio^eiher  possible  for  you  to  become  a 'little  childish,  in  the 


*MQ  <;0NS0LATIGN3  OjF 

midst  of  your  infirmities  and  afflictions,  intreat  of  them,  in  cas% 
of  that,  to  double  their  diligence,  watchfulness,  tenderness,  and 
faithfulness;  and  unless  they  are  more  hard  hearted  than  ali 
others,  and  baser  than  the  basest,  so  lliat  their  tender  mercies  are 
cruelty,  they  will  be  faithful,  and  true,  and  kind,  and  affecuonate 
to  you,  and  spare  no  labor  nor  expense  to  serve  you.  I  say,  they 
will  do  so,  no  matter  who  they  are,  your  children,  your  former 
friends,  or  even  strangers.  You,  my  friend,  indulge  an  humble, 
a  steady,  strong  and  growing  hope,  and  trust  that  you  are  now, 
and  long  have  been  in  the  way  of  righteousness,  that  you  are  a 
christian.  This  makes  me  feel  unspeakably  more  pleasant,  while 
I  am  in  your  presence.  1  look  at  your  grey  head  as  a  crown  of 
glory,  blooming  and  ripening  for  a  higher  and  happier  world. 
And  I  do  not  feel  it  to  be  a  very  difficult  undertaking  to  aid  you 
?n  your  meditations,  thoughts,  views  and  hopes,  so  as  for  you  to 
find  consolation,  if  indeed  you  need  any  aid  at  all.  I  mean  not 
only  with  a  view  to  your  present  sufferings,  but  with  a  view  to 
your  living  Io)>ger,  or  dying  now,  as  God  in  his  wisdom  and  sov- 
ereignty may  drder.  No  doubt  you  may  have  some  little  difficulty 
in  your  reasoning  powers,  and  a  good  deal  in  your  feelings,  to  see 
why  it  is  that  God  still  afflicts  you  in  your  old  age.  But  it  is  on- 
ly necessary  for  me  briefly  to  remind  you,  that  you  are  a  sinner 
still,  notwithstanding  you  may  really  be  in  the  way  of  riehteous-^ 
nesss  and  that  you  have  not  yet  got  through  that  training  and 
discipling  on  the  earth,  which-  the  great  Captain  of  our  salvation 
thinks  jfiecessary  for  you.  You  will  remember  that  he  was  himself 
*'A  man  of  sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief;  and  that  he  said 
it  was  enough  for  the  disciple  that  he  be  as  his  master;"  and  his 
sorrows  did  not  end  till  his  resurrection.  Further,  that  when  he 
promised  his  disciples  good  things  here  below;  that  they  should 
"receive  a  hundred  fold  now  in  this  time,  houses  and  brethren, 
and  sisters,  and  mothers,  and  children,  and  lands,  he  added,  with 
persecutions."  That  is,  they  were  not  only  to  endure  the  com- 
mon afflictions  of  life,  but  to  these  were  to  be  added  the  peiseru- 
tions  of  fierce  and  cruel  men.  All  these  trials  and  sufterings  they 
were  to  endure,  and  not  only  to  endure,  but  he  was  caref«il  to  tell 
them,  that  he,  and  he  only,  "that  endureth  to  the  end  shMl  be 
saved,"  And  now,  my  dear  friend,  reverend  and  aged  friend, 
you  have  not  yet  endured  unto  the  end,  either  of  your  afflic<if  ns, 
or  of  your  life;  and  it  becomes  you  to  "endure  as  a  good  soldier 
of  Jesus  Christ."  Y()u  are  not  only  a  soldier,  but  a  veteran  sol- 
dier, of  long  experience  and  tried  courage.  You  should  there- 
fore bear  these  afflictions  that  ore  now  upon  yon,  with  an  uncom- 
fnon  df'ffrf'e  of  composu«-e,  self  command  and  pnlience.  I<  is 
aaid — ^^'Christ  also  sufiered  for  us>  leaving  us  an  exuniple,  that  ye 


VnVi    AFFLICTEWv  20lv 

sJlould  follow  his  stpps/'  He  is  our  great  example  to  guide  us, 
ami  fiiconrage  us  in  our  sufferings  and  attiictions.  But  he  is 
not  our  only  example. — The  apostle  James  says  to  us — ''Take 
mv  brethren,  the  prophets,  who  have  epoken  in  the  name  of  the 
Lord,  for  an  example  cf  suffering  attliction,  hucJ  of  patience. 
Behold  we  count  ihem  happy  which  endure."  It  appeare  \\wn, 
that  the  prophets  are  to  be  our  example,  as  well  as  the  Saviour., 
And  why  should  not  you  be  an  example,  and  a  good  one  too,  of 
Siiffering  affliction,  and  of  p.itience,  seeing  you  have  so  much  ex- 
pfMience,  and  have  been  so  long  enabled  to  exhibit  the  christian 
characier  in  all  the  varied  scenes  of  life,  and  in  the  most  trying 
circumstances.  I  can  see  no  reason  why  you  shou'd  not  strive 
to  your  utmost,  to  make  yourself  a  worthy  example  to  all  that 
are  around  you,  but  e?[>eciaUy  to  all  who  are  younger  than  your- 
self. You  can  certainly  bear  these  present  afflictions  much  better 
thiin  you  did  those  which  you  endured,  ten,  twenty,  thirty  or  forty 
years  ago.  Not  only  with  respect  to  the  pains  whicii  distress  you, 
but  with  respect  to  your  hopes  and  fears.  Y  u  cannot  be  so 
easily  alarmed  now  as  you  used  to  be;  and  as  you  have  always 
hitlieito  recoveied,  you  will  now,  notwithstanding  you  are  old, 
more  readily  and  more  easily  hope  to  recover  again;  or  if  you 
have  no  ground  at  all  to  hope,  you  will  be  indifferent  about  it. 
Bv  your  great  r.ge  and  your  h;!p;>y  experience,  and  by  feeling  as  if 
your  work  wis  done,  or  nearly  done  upon  the  earth,  you  are  en- 
al)led  to  have  that  resignation  to'the  divine  will,  by  which  you  caa 
most  readily,  and  suddenly,  and  most  cheerfully  and  entirely  ac- 
quiesce in  wliatever  God  appears  to  ha\e  immefliately  before  you, 
life  or  death.  O  let  i»  be  so,  my  dear  aged  afflicted  fiend !  Show 
the  world,  prove  to  (he  world,  that  "though  your  outward  man 
perish,  ye\  your  inward  man  is  renewed  day  by  day.*'  Put  it  be- 
y(jnd  a  doubt  that  tlifve  is  such  a  thing  as  sanctified  afflictions, 
And  though  your  afflicion  be  ^reat,  exceedinoly  severe,  "even 
beyond  measure,"  feel  in  your  heart,  and  he  able  to  say  with  your 
mouth — "my  liffhi  affliction  which  is  but  for  a  moment,  is  work- 
ing out  for  me  a  far  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory .^ 
"ft  is  sanctified  unto  me — it  is  holy  and  reforming  chastisement — 
God  brings  it  upon  me  for  my  gof)d,  not  as  a  vengeful  judge,  but 
as  a  loving  father."  And  thus  you  will  prove  it  to  be  true  to  all 
around,  that  "whom  the  Lord  Icveth  he  chasteneth,  and  scourgeth 
every  son,  vea,  and  daughter  too,  wliom  he  receiveth.'"  And  ycu 
will  not  despise  the  chassening  of  ilie  Lord,  nor  fvnnt  when  thou 
art  rebuked  of  him;  but  will  rejoice,  knowing  that  if  "youenduie 
chas^fuing,  God  dealeth  wi'h  you  as  with  sons;  but  if  you  b? 
without  chastisement,  whereof  all  are  pailakeis,  then  are  you?> 
feaslaiu  and  not  a  son"  or  a  daughter. 

]7« 


1  know,  my  aged  feeble  friend,  that  "no  rlmstpninf  for  tfie 
present  seemeth  lo  be  joyous,  but  grievous:  neveitlieUss  sifpr- 
wards  it  yieldelh  ihe  peaceable  f  uiis  of  righteousness  unto  them 
which  are  exercised  tbercoy."  "•Wherefore  lift  up  your  hnnd» 
which  hang  clown,:!nd  your  feeble  knees,"  and  hope  to  be  s}>  iv«  d, 
<'thai  you  may  recover  strength,  before  yctu  go  beitce,  ynd  be  no 
more,"  among  the  living  upon  the  earth.  Hope  to  recover  stienijtlj 
I  say,  yes,  and  to  see  a  goodly  number  of  days  yet  upon  theenrth. 
You  cannot  easily  be  so  old,  that  you  cannot  live  to  be  some  older 
Still.  It  may  be  three,  or  four,  or  five,  or  possibly  len  or  fifteen 
years.  But  perhaps  you  do  not  feel  pleasant  to  hear  me  tjilk  about 
that,  which,  to  you,  seems  so  improbable  as  to  be  almost  impe-ssible 
in  your  estimation.  And  it  may  be  that  you  are  not  so  perfectly 
and  entirely  resigned  to  live,  as  you  aie  to  die,  as  I  but  new  spoke- 
of  your  being  as  easily  reconciled  to  the  one  as  to  the  other  Per- 
haps it  would  be  your  decided  choice  to  die,  if  it  were  God's  will, 
rather  than  to  live  any  longer.  This  was  the  case  with  an  apostle, 
and  has  been  with  many  others,  and  very  decidedly  so  with  the 
writer.  They  so  fully  discovered,  and  knew,  and  experienced, 
and  groaned  under  the  sins  and  miseries  of  this  world,  and  so 
atvtHiffly  and  confidently  believed  that  there  is  a  world  of  happi- 
ness, in  which  there  isneither  sin  nor  misery,  and  h;id  such  a  full 
assurance  of  faith  and  hope,  that  they  would  go  to  that  world 
wiien  they  died,  that  they  said — "We  knoio  that  if  our  earthly 
h'use  of  this  tabernacle  were  dissolved,  we  have  a  building  of 
God,  a  house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens.  For 
in  this  we  groan  earnestly  desiring  to  be  clothed  upon,  with  onr 
hv'UsewhicJi  is  from  heaven;  if  so  be  that  being  clothed,  we  shall 
Bot  be  fi>und  naked .  For  we  that  are  in  this  tabernacle  do  groan, 
being  burdened:  not  for  that  we  would  be  unclothed,  but  clothed 
upon,  that  mortality  might  be  swallowed  up  of  life.  We  are  con- 
fident  and  willing  rather  to  be  absent  from  the  body,  and  to  be 
present  with  the  Lord,  having  a  desire  to  depart,  and  to  be  with 
Christ;  which  is  far  better.  To  die  is  gain."  Truly,  truly  it  is 
gain,  my  aged  friend,  to  tiie  confirmed  believer,  and  no  doubt 
would  be  to  you,  as  it  respects  your  own  individual  self,  but 
would  it  be  gain  to  others,  and  would  God's  wise,  and  glorious,  and 
happy  purpfjses  be  more  advanced  thereby,  than  by  your  continu- 
ing a  little  lonser  in  the  flesh.  Of  this,  after  all,  God  must  be  al- 
lowed to  be  the  final  and  decisive  judge.  But  I  venture  to  believe, 
my  aged  christian  friend,  that  without  the  wide  ranging,  infinite 
knowledge  of  the  Deity,  I  can  rny?elf  suggest  to  you  several  pos- 
sible considerations  or  reasons,  why  or  how  you  may  (h  niore 
gtjod  by  being  required  to  remain  some  longer  still  upon  the  earU}. 


larB   AFFLTCTSJd,  -2i^ 

^n  the  first  place,  (notwithstanding  you  may  think  it  impossible) 
it  is  possiale  for  you  so  far  to  recover,  as  1o  have  a  considerable 
d  'g!er«  of  enjoyment  yet  upon  the  earth,  and  to  attend  to  the  orr 
d.niry  business  of  life.  This  is  very  frequently  the  case,  tiven 
y,\ih  those  greatly  advanced  in  life.  Again,  y(»n  may  be  useful 
here,  1  do  not  mean  by  doing  a  great  deal  of  the  ordinary  busi- 
ness or  work  (»f  life,  which  you  osed  to  do  with  so  much  activity. 
To  labor  with  the  hands  is  not  the  only  way  to  do  good  in  the 
world.  You  may  do  good  and  be  useful  to  all  around  you,  by 
sotting  them  a  good  example,  by  expressing  every  thing  that  is 
good  and  excellent  in  your  countenance  and  in  your  whole  car" 
ri  ;ge  and  deportment,  but  especially  by  your  words. 

1  fear  you  have,  with  all  your  experience  and  knowledge,  hut 
a  flint  and  imperfect  impression  upon  your  mind,  of  the  vast 
amount  of  good  you  may  do  in  either  of  these  ways,  but  espe- 
ci  'lly  by  your  words,  yes  it  may  be  by  one  single  word  that  may 
drop  from  your  aged  lips,  and  be  heard  by  some  person  or  other, 
perhaps  by  some  thoughtless  youth.  In  order  to  assist  you  in 
f.»rming  an  idea  of  how  much  good  it  is  possible  for  you  to  do, 
let  your  mind  pass  back  to  the  things  you  did  in  your  youth, 
Pevhaps  when  you  were  quite  young,  nearly  a  hundred  years  aoo, 
y»>M  h.ippened  to  pick  up  a  chesnut  and  an  acorn,  and  it  may  be 
out  of  mere  curiosity  you  planted  them,  but  they  came  up  and 
you  cultiv\ted  and  protected  them;  and  now  you  can  look  out 
and  see  standing  on  those  very  spots  the  huge  oak  and  the  grea( 
chesnut.  Two  or  three  years  ago,  1  myself,  when  so  feeble  as  to 
be  scarcely  able  to  walk,  planned  a  cedar  twig  in  the  door-yard, 
which  is  now  three-fourths  of  my  own  height,  and  a  flourishing 
evergreen  in  winter,  to  revive  my  spirits  when  I  cast  my  eyes 
upon  it. 

Again,  you  may  h^ve  been  the  parent  of  children,  at  the  age 
•f  twen'y  or  Uventy-five,  and  they  may  have  grown  up  and  mar^ 
ried  early,  and  raised  children,  some  of  whom  miy  also  now  have 
ehl^dren,  so  that  you  may  look  around  and  see  a  large  family  or 
tribe,  spruiig  from  yourself,  among  whom  may  be  a  considerable 
number  of  great  grand  children,  and  all  doing  well  in  the  world, 
being  moral,  respectable  and  useful,  and  many  of  them  hopeful 

tit  was  so  ordered  by  ProviHence,  that  just  when  I  came  to  write  for  the 
agpf!  in  a^ictioii,  my  owir  christian  mother,  most  worthy,  anrl  to  ine  and 
nianv  others,  most  dear,  was  seized,  and  held,  and  threatened  hy  a  vijJent 
a-ifl  alannniii;  attaclc  of  dysentery,  in  her  seventy-fifth  year,  (my  Reverend 
father  iieing  in  his  seventy-seventh  year)  so  that  a  patient  was  presented 
immediately  before  me,  of  the  most  interesting  and  intimate  character, 
whom  I  a  Idressc  i  after  the  mann.=>r  of  what  yon  here  read.  It  thprefor©. 
mav  he  considered  stri.tlv  practical.  Sh©  was  restored^  aad  is  now  in  tcl= 
nable  health,        Se^it.  25li>,  1830,  F.  ^  M^^ 


204t  CONSOLATIONS  0^ 

professors  of  religion.  And  possibly  yon  were  the  inafrnmeiii 
not  only  of  bringing  thern  into  existence,  but  of  gnidin"  iheio 
into  the  "right  wnys  of  the  Lord."  And  it  may  be  you  have 
guided  not  only  these,  but  others  not  a  few.  Perhaps  a  word  of 
advice,  and  instruction,  and  caution,  and  warning,  given  by  you 
to  some  heedless  young  man,  sixty  yens  -ago,  which  you  irive 
long  ago  forgotten,  was  so  powerful  a  word  to  him,  that  lie  did  not 
and  could  not  forget  it — that  it  entered  into  his  heart  and  rankled 
there,  till  (in  the  hands  of  the  Spiri)  it  convicted  and  'Reproved 
him  of  sin,  and  of  righteousness,  and  of  judijmefit,"  au<l  that 
he  devoted  himself  wholly  and  unreservedly  to  spend  his  life  and 
strength  "to  spend  and  be  spent"  in  teaching  others,  young  and 
ohl,  the  same  important  lesson  which  you  taught  him;  and  that  he 
is  now  an  old  man,  and  has  been  successful  during  all  his  life,  in 
turning  many  to  righteousness,  and  is  going  on  still  in  his  glori- 
ous and  happy  career.  None  of  all  these  things  are  impossiijie, 
but  very  probable.  Such  a  one  may  not  be  the  only  one  whom 
you  have  turned,  and  who  has  spent  his  life  thus.  i\nd  why 
should  it  be  impossible  for  you  to  speak  a  few  more  such  words, 
though  you  are  old  ?  It  is  not ;  you  may  yet  do  it,  and  should  lose 
no  opportunity  to  do  it  to  all  who  approach  your  bed,  but  especial- 
ly to  the  young.  And  if  you  so  fir  recover  as  to  be  able  to  sit  at 
the  table  with  the  fimily,  you  will  there  have  a  fine  opp()rl unity 
for  speaking  such  words,  and  giving  miich  moral  and  religious  iu- 
3;  rue?  ion.  The  happy  effects -and  consequences  of  what  you  hi  ve 
already  done,  both  in  nitural  and  moral  thirigs,  I  have  spoken  of 
©lily  so  fir  as  they  extend  in  this  world,  nd  thi'S  ex'ent  is  truly 
vast,  grand  and  sublime,  as  it  is  |>resented  to  our  view,  and  we  see 
it  with  our  eyes;  but  when  we  follow  these  happy  effects  and  con- 
sequences, together  with  wh-ai  have  yet  to  proceed  from  you,  oa 
to  eternity;  their  vas'ness,  grandeur  and  sublimity  rise  in  glori- 
ous prospect  before  us,  to  such  an  extend<?d,  immense  and  im- 
measurable magnitude,  that  our  higliest  mental  off >rls  utterly  fiil 
lo  conceive  of  all  the  good  you  m'^y  yet  do  upon  the  earth,  siy- 
ing  nothing  about  what  you  havealreadv  done.  What  my  fi-nd, 
is  it  not  written? — "Let  him  know,  thnt  he  which  conver'eth  a 
-sinner  from  the  error  of  his  way,  shall  s;ive  a  soul  from  dei'ih, 
and  sh  dl  hide  a  multitude  of  sins.  And  they  that  be  wise  sli  dl 
shine  as  the  brightness  of  the  firmament;  and  they  that  turn  many 
to  righteousness,  as  the  stars  for  ever  and  ever."  If  you  hive, 
and  do  yet  turn  so  many  to  riijhteousnoss,  you  shall  shine  as  a 
star  for  ever  and  ever,  and  they  that  you  hive  turned  and  sh^dl 
turn,  and  all  those  turu'-d  by  them  sh  ill  thus  shine.  VVhv,  it 
would  seem  tint  vou,  and  all  they  shining  thus,  would  yourselvflp 
make  a  world  of  glory  and  happiness 


(J  theu,  wy  aged  afflicted  friend,  try  yoiu-  utmosi  to  be  willing 
10  live  some  longer  still,  if  it  be  the  will  of  God,  though  you  be 
dreadfully  aliiicted,  pained,  and  sick,  and  feeble;  seeing,  even  we 
short-sighted  beings  can  discover  much  good  that  you  may  yet 
do  upon  tht  earth. 

Furthermore,  this  is  not  all  I  can  say  on  the  subject,  nof  all  I 
have  to  say. 

You  know  that  "all  things  shall  work  together  for  good  to 
them  thai  love  God."  And  it  may  be  his  righteous  and  kind 
purpose  to  spare  you  here,  not  only  to  cause  unpleasant  things, 
afflictions,  to  work  for  your  good,  and  to  permit  you  to  do  good, 
but  to  have  great  satisfaction  in  seeing  others  do  good,  and  be- 
holding the  wonderous  and  happy  changes,  which  his  own  hand 
may  work  in  saving  the  souls  of  men.  You  may  see  those  happy 
changes  wrought  upon  those  immediately  around  you,  and  in 
whom  you  are  nearly  and  deeply  interested.  And  this  may  le- 
joice  your  heart  enough  to  compensate  you  doubly  for  all  the 
pains  you  may  have  endured  in  living  to  witness  it.  In  addition 
to  these,  you  may  hear  of  extensive,  stupendous  and  glorious 
Qhanges  at  a  distance  from  you,  which  will  greatly  revive  your 
heart.  You  may  hear  of  the  most  happy  revolutions  of  the  nov- 
ernments  of  the  nations.  You  may  hear  of  the  most  signal  tri- 
umphs of  the  Redeemer's  kingdom  of  righteousness  and  peace, 
and  the  most  rapid,  complete,  fatal,  and  final  prostration  of  the 
kingdom  of  Satan.  As  many  believe,  and  as  we  have,  at  least, 
some  faint  appeai'anee  of  it,  that  we  have  come  near  to  the  dawn 
of  the  millennium,  you  ma\  even  yet  live  to  see  or  hear  of  a  na- 
tion being  born  to  God  in  a  day.  This  would  truly  be  glorious 
and  highly  interesting  news  for  you  to  carry  home  to  the  inhabi- 
tants of  heaven.  It  would  not  only  fill  your  heart  with  joy,  but 
the  hearts  of  men  and  angels  above,  when  you  get  there  with  it. 
By  this  I  am  led  on  to  take  a  still  more  extended,  exalted  and 
cheering  view  of  the  subject,  and  of  your  case.  God  may  re- 
quire you  to  remam  here  for  a  short  season,  not  merely  for  purpo- 
ses and  services  for  this  world,  but  for  the  next.  To  stand  at  your 
post  as  a  sentinel  in  the  army,  not  only  till  the  last  hour,  but  the 
last  minufe  of  your  time;  to  observe  all  the  movements  of  the 
enemy,  and  collect  all  the  informntion  you  possibly  can,  both  good 
and  b^.d,  pleasant  and  unpleasant,  not  merely  with  respect  to  the 
condition  of  individuals  around  you,  but  vvith  respect  to  the  con- 
dition, the  doings  and  movements  of  the  nations  of  the  world, 
Tiritthus,  when  you  go,  you  m-'y  have  a  large  amount  of  infor- 
mation, quite  a  history  of  the  state  of  things  here  below,  gathered 
up  during  your  lon^  life,  to  carry  up  on  high,  to  the  heavenly  city, 
Ihe  metropolis  of  all  worlds.     And  that  at'th©  very  first  appeaf- 


ii06  CbT^soLKTibss  Of 

ahce  of  your  aged,  reverend  head,  within  the  gates?  o^  that  eity, 
the  joyou«»,  in(|uisitive  and  enquiring  inhabitants,  m«^n  and  angels, 
rtiay  run  to  meet  you,  and  hs  large  a  circle  surround  you  as  can 
hear  your  voice  hastily,  and  gladly  relating  and  rehearsing  to  them, 
all  the  news  you  have  from  the  earth,  the  whole  history  of  your 
long,  and  laborious,  and  active,  and  afflicted  life,  including  the 
las»,  and  therefore  the  most  interesting  intelligence  which  you  re- 
ceived, just  before  your  departure;  togeiher  with  a  fi.ll  narrative 
to  your  profoundly  silent  nnd  very  attentive  audience,  of  all  the 
late,  great,  grand  and  glorions  pi  sns,  operations  and  advances 
of  King  Messiah,  aided  by  all  his  active  officers,  as  instruments, 
his  7rorrf,  and  his  happy  instinitions  as  means,  his  sacraments  and 
Ordinances;  and  giving  them  (what  they  will  cerl'inly  expect  to 
hear  from  every  new  comer)  the  most  recent  and  particular  ac- 
counts of  the  progress  of  all  the  great  benevoU  nt  societies  of 
your  nation,  ard  of  the  world;  the  b.ble  societies,  the  theological 
seminaries,  the  missionary  societies,  the  tract  and  sund:!y  school 
societies,  together  with  ;jH  other  benevolent  institutions,  common 
schools,  and  education,  moralitv  and  religion  in  general:  wot 
forgetting  by  any  means  to  give  them,  in  the  most  minute  n).uiner, 
all  the  latest  knowledge  you  may  have  obt.-iined  of  the  opposition 
of  wicked  and  ungodly  meri,  ag:(inst  these  benevolent  and  philan- 
thropic institutions:  and  you  wilt  not  certainly  forget  to  pour  into 
th»:ir  listening  and  sym])athetic  ears,  the  wtiole  story  of  your  own 
afflictions  and  woes,  that  they-mr.y  rejoice  with  you  in  youi  deliv- 
erance and  trijunph;  and  as  \ou  are  a  being  of  sympathy,  you 
will  rem*mbor  all  the  sous  and  daughters  of  affliction  whom  you 
left  below,  and  p^int  your  active  tmd  swifi-winged  hearers  down 
to  them,  begging  thorn  to  make  haste  to  reb.eve  and  C(>tnfori  theni: 
and  thus  'hey  having  heard  your  whole  namtive,  embracing  every 
item  of  news,  which  you  as  a  finite  being  could  collect,  will  be 
more  fully  instrucied  with  regard  to  the  state  of  things  here  be- 
low, and  belter  prepared  to  come  down  as  "ministering  spirits, 
srnt  forth  to  minister  for  them  who  shfill  be  hf^-rs  of  s.-ilvi'ion." 
TJjey  will  better  know  where  all  the  sorrowful  objects  (^f  affliction 
are  to  l;e  found,  who  need  tbnr  ministry  and  consolation;  and 
where  they  may  meet  and  repel  the  enemies  advnnc'ng  to  jn:  ke 
att  cks  upon  those  who  shall  l>e  heirs  of  solvation;  and  lastly, 
wliere  they  m.y  most  adv;»n';>geously  fall  in  ?nd  put  forth  their 
at  ength,  to  advance  and  make  triumphant  the  Redeemej's  king- 
dom. 

This,  in  connec'i-'n  with  other  purposes,  my  aged  afflicted 
fr'end,  gaod  ^>ld  soldier,  mny  !)e  a  reason  why  the  a  11  wise  God 
TX)^v  see  it  best,  npfin  Mie  wluile,  f(;r  vou  t?:-  remiin  here  some 
longei  still.     To  wait  for  approaching  events,  small  and  great. 


TME     AFFLMTED.  207 

gaod  and  bad,  and  as  soon  as  they  have  arrived  and  occurred,  for 
you  to  gather  up  the  news, and  carry  it  on  high,  to  add,  not  only  to 
the  joy,  but  to  the  knowledge  and  usefulness  of  the  inhabitants  of 
heaven. 

All  these  things  taken  together,  that  I  have  said  on  the  point, 
appear  to  be  some  of  the  reasons  discernable  by  us  mortals,  of 
finite  and  limited  vision,  why  it  may  be  best  for  yourself  and 
otiiers,  and  most  advance  the  glory  of  the  great  God,  tor  you  to 
be  detiined  in  the  flesh,  (though  in  great  affliction  and  weakness) 
some  days,  oi  even  years  longer.  But  if  God  should  continue 
you,  and  were  you  not  able,  nor  I  for  you,  nor  any  body  else,  to 
see  or  to  suppose  one  single  reason  for  it,  that  would  be  no  proof 
that  he  had  not  sufficient  reasons,  for  he  certainly  would  have« 
You  know,  that  "now  we  see  through  a  glass,  darkly,  but  thcR 
face  to  face:  now  we  know  in  part;  but  then  shall  we  know, 
even  as  also  we  are  known."  And  you  remember  distinctly,  what 
our  kind  S^iviour  s\id  to  one  of  his  disciples,  who  was  a  liftle  ioo 
inquisitive— "Jesus  answered  and  said  unto  him.  What  I  do  »h<)U 
knowest  not  now,  but — (O  how  kind!)  thou  shall  know  hereafter.'* 
Bear  up,  bear  up  then,  be  courageous  firm  and  unmovnble,  and 
hope  unto  the  end,  an<l,  though  you  be  infirm,  frail  and  feeMe 
during  all  your  stay,  you  shall  hereafter  know  why  it  was  so,  auel 
all  about  it. 

It  would  be  unreasonable  and  absurd  to  suppose  that  you, 
or  any  one  else,  should  carry  up  on  high  a  larcje  amount  of 
news  and  intelligence,  and  deliver  it  there  as  I  have  repres- 
ented, increasing  both  the  joy  and  the  knowledge  of  the  inhab- 
itants, but  receive  no  accounts,  no  inteUigence  from  them  in  turn. 
Certamly  they  will  rejoice  and  hasten  to  tell  you  all  they 
know  that  you  are  capat)le  of  receiving;  and  will  especially 
explain  and  expo'ind  to  you,  if  they  can,  why  you  had  to  tarry 
so  long  in  the  flesh,  being  so  very  infirm  and  hangm^f  on  to  life 
by  so  brit'.le  a  thread.  But  if  their  knowledge  of  the  wavs, 
and  doiigs,  and  purposes  nfthe  great  king  do  not  extend  so  far, 
and  thev  are  unab'e  to  do  it,  then  he  who  h'ss>aid,  "thou  shalt 
know  hereitfter,'*'  will  make  good  his  woid,  and  you  have 
only  to  remember  that  *heaven  and  •^arth  shall  pass  away,  hut 
his  words  shall  not  pass  away."  His  svords  cannot  fail,  and 
he  will  satisfy  you  with  regard  to  rh  ^  vvh  de  matter. 

But  on  'he  other  hand,  my  old  rfflicred  friend,  i^  there  at  this 
moment  not  the  least  prospect  or  h>pe  of  your  life  being  con- 
tinued, but  is  it  mnnitest  to  yourselt  and  tu  ail  around  that  the 
*'time  of  your  departure  is  at  hand;"  it  will  be  much  more  easy 
for  you  ''to  set  your  h-.use  in  order"  and  be  ready  for  the  great 
chaoge,  than  if  you  were  in  active  IH'q.     i^ou  have,  some  tiine 


^S  ^6n30lations  eF 

jsince,  laid  aside  tiie  difficult  and  burdensome  concerns  of  litis, 
and  it  will  not  take  you  many  minutes  to  settle  all  your  affairs, 
give  your  dying  advice,  and  charges,  and  exhortations  to  all 
around  you,  and  to  bid  farewell  to  all  friends.  Then,  it  will 
only  remain  for  you,  like  good  old  Jacob,  to  gather  up  your  feet 
into  the  bed,  and,  with  the  fund  of  information  whi<hyou  have, 
including  the  most  recent  accounts  and  news,  being  your- 
self of  full  age,  like  as  a  shock  of  corn  coming  in  his  season, 
for  you  to  yield  up  the  ghost,  and  be  gathered  unto  your  people; 
to  take  your  flight  under  convoy  of  an  active  band  of  winged, 
and  holy,  and  mighty  angels  away  to  the  heavenly  city. 
Farewell. 

July  27th,  1830. 

The  time  has  come  for  me  to  remind  my  reader  that  I  have 
Qow  accomulishd  my  plan  and  promise  to  attend  to  the  peculia- 
rities of  the  different  classes  of  mankind  in  affliction.  This,  I 
was  to  do  rather  as  it  respected  their  standing  and  condition  in 
society  than  the  different  diseases  which  were  preying  upon 
them.  Whether  I  have  done  it  to  any  good  purpose  or  not,  my 
reader  must  judge  for  him  or  hersell.  In  order  to  make  my 
little  work  as  general  and  as  complete  as  possible,  allowing  no 
great  and  stacking  deficiency,  and  endeavouring  to  meet  the 
disconsolate  and  attemptmg  to  console  them,  whatever  may  be 
the  cause  or  the  shape  of  their  disconsolate  condition,  1  hava 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  will  be  necessary  and  incum!»ent 
upon  me,  to  say  a  word  or  two  for  those  afflicted  by  the  afflic- 
tions of  others,  and  a  few  more  for  the  melancholy.  This  will 
be  attending  to  those  who  labor  under  two  general  classes  of 
calamities  or  diseases. 


FOR  THOSE    AFFLICTED  WITH  THE  AFFLIC 
TIONS  OF  OTHERS. 

Such  are  persons  who  have  charge  of  the  deaf,  the  dumb,  the 
bhnd,  the  lame,  the  halt,  the  helpless,  the  deranged,  and  those 
that  are  subject  to  fits  or  any  other  disease  or  calamity  which 
renders  them  unable  to  take  care  of  themselves,  as  those 
who  are  not  afflictd  can  and  do.  To  this  class  belong  all  those 
abused,  starveil,  broken-hearted  wives,  with  their  children,  wha 
are  afflicted  with  the  yffliction  of  drunken  husbands  and  fathers. 

It  is  more  ij^enerally  the  d(.:ty  of  the  fewiale  part  ofinaukiad 
to  remain  at  home  and  in  the  house,  to  attend  to  all  domestic 


-iHE    Ail  I  Lie  i Lit.  20^ 

coiicenis,  ihun  for  the  male  part,  whose  avocations  and  employ- 
ments call  them  to  their  fields,  to  their  shops,  and  to  take  long 
journeys.  It  therefore  more  naturally,  and  more  unavoidably, 
and  necessarily  belongs  to  the  female  part  to  take  charge  of 
and  attend  to  those  truly  afflicted,  and  generally  helpless,  and 
therefore  unavoidably  filthy  and  loathsome  objects  whom  I  have 
mentioned  above.  The  great  weight  of  the  burden  usually 
lights  upon  mothers.  From  this  setting  forth  of  facts,  it  appiars 
that  my  main  business  now,  is  to  attempt  to  console  the  female 
part  of  the  community,  and  especially  mothers,  not  forgetting 
however  that  others,  both  male  and  female,  may  have  charge 
of  such  objects.  We  ought  all  to  be  very  thankful  that  such 
objects  are  not  more  numerous  than  they  are.  The  most  un- 
happy, trying  and  difficult  are  children,  either  born  deficient  or 
becoming  so  in  their  infancy  or  the  early  part  of  their  lives. 
It  is  no  uncommon  thing  for  them  to  be  deaf,  or  dumb,  or  help- 
less or  idiots.  0:ie  such  will  occupy  nearly  all  the  time,  night 
and  day,  and  exhaust  almost  the  whole  strength  of  a  single  per- 
son. The  loss  of  sleep  and  rest  on  their  account,  is  a  very  great 
privation.  This,  together  with  the  anxiety  of  mind  experienced 
concerning  them,  makes  the  affliction  truly  a  double  one,  first 
upon  themselves,  and  next  ujpon  the  person  or  persons  who  have 
ch«Lkge  of  them.  It  appears  then,  that  the  persons  for  whom  I 
am  now  to  seek  consolation,  though  they  are  in  health,  are  really 
afflicted,  and  not  ordy  so,  but  deeply  so.  Those  who  have  to  nurse 
the  sick  for  a  few  weeks  might  even  be  said  to  be  afflicted.  But 
wlkit  is  that  to  months  and  years,  or  a  life-time.  It  is  not  my  bu- 
siness, therefore,  at  this  time,  to  visit  those  who  are  so  well  and 
hearty,  and  comfortable  as  to  need  no  consolation,  so  as  scarcely 
to  bid  me  welcome  when  they  see  me  coming,  with  a  view  to 
hold  free,  and  familiar,  and  friendly,  and  encouraging,  and  cheer- 
ing conversation  with  them,  concerning  their  woes  and  sorrows. 
On  the  contrary,  many  a  long-tried,  way-worn,  worn  down  mortal 
of  this  class,  would  rejoice  to  see  any  body  eoming  to  console 
them,  even  if  they  had  reason  to  expect  very  little  consolation 
from  him. 

Whether  1  have  little  or  much,  my  friend,  it  is  my  earnest  de- 
sire that  you  may  receive  all  that  can  be  discovered  and  obtained, 
from  any  source  whatever,  in  the  midst  of  your  exhausting  and 
wasting  toils,  and  long  and  severe  servitude. 

I  am  now  come  to  see  the  worst  of  your  condition,  and  say 
ajid  do  what  I  can  for  you.  Truly  I  see  here  a  very  unpleasant, 
difficult  and  trying  object,  on  which  it  is  your  wearisome  duty  to 
attend.  Time  was,  when  you  were  unfettered,  not  bound  to  any 
thing  of  this  kind.     When  you  were  fi-ce  as  gthers,  "free  as  air.*' 

18 


2ii).  CONSOLATIONS   OF 

and  had  many  if  not  all  the  advantages,  privileges,  comforts  and 
enjoyments  of  life.     But  even  then   you  felt   as  if  there   was 
something  wanting.     You  felt,  at  times,  that  same  restless  spirit, 
and  those  restless  feelings  from  which  none  of  our  race,  under 
any  circumstances  are   free.     The  general   burden  of  being  in  a 
world  cursed  by  its  Maker,  of  which  world  you  are  a  part,  was  upon 
yoU'     And  you  must  be  unlike  all  others,  if  you  did  not  think 
that    heavy  enough  and    bad  enough.     You  met  with  what  you 
considered  difficuhies  and  trials  with  which  you  had  to  contend, 
and  which  you  had  to  surmount.     You,  like  all  others  knew  but 
little  of  what  was  before  you .     And,  like  all  others  in  another 
respect,  you  hoped  for  the  best.     But  it  has  pleased  Providence 
to  bring  upon  you  a  large  share  of  what,  very  likely,  you  consider 
the  worst;  and  to  fix  it  upon  you,  and  to  fasten  it  to  you,  and  you 
to  it,  in  such  a  manner  that  there  seems  to  be  little  or  no  prospect 
that  you  will  soon  be  delivered  from  it,  if  at  all,  before  death.    By 
this  ybu  are  thrown  out  of  the  ordinary  walks  and  ways  of  man- 
kind; robbed  of  your  liberty,  and  made  an  almost  perpetual  pris- 
oner, to  wait  upon  one  who  is  perhaps,  entirely  an  absolute  and 
perpetual  prisoner.     I  do  not  mean  confined  by  the  chains  or 
walls  of  a  criminal's  prison,  for  that   would  be  worse  than  to  be 
confined  by  any  bodily  disease,  no  matter  how  great.     This  is  the 
-  place  then — this  is  the  room  where  you  have  to  spend  long  and 
laborious  days,  and  long,  and  sleepless,  and  "wearisome  nights.'^ 
Through  the  day  you  are  not -delivered  from  the  ordinary  concerns 
and  duties  of  life,  which  you  have  in  addition  to  your  care  of  the 
afflicted ;  and  during  the  silent,  and  soothing,  and  restorative  hours 
of  night,  while  the  candles  of  all  others  are  put  out,  and   they 
themselves  are    wrapped  in  the   sweet,  refreshing   slumbers  of 
"  balmy  sleep,"  your  lamp  casts  its  pale  rays  around,  giving  a  sign 
io  the  occasional  traveller,  that  trouble  and  sorrow  have  found  an 
abode  under  the  roof  where  it  is  your  lot   (o  dwell.     Oft  times 
your  heart  swells  and  fills  with  sadness  and  grief,  and  at  the  lonely 
moment  when  no  eye  sees  you  but  that  which  incessantly  looks 
on  all,  your  eyes  pour  forth  a  flood  of  tears,  and  truly  from  heart 
and  eyes  your  sorrows  bleed.     Poor  soul!  from  what  I  here  see 
of  your  case,  and  what  I   can  readily  suppose  and  believe,  T  feel 
sorry  for  you  indeed.     You  must  be  altogether  different  from  the 
generality  of  mankind,  or  you  have  had  difl^rculty  to  see  why  it  is 
that  God  spares  the  object  of  your  charge,  when  it  is  no  longer 
able  to  be  useful,  after  the  manner  of  mankind  in  general.     No 
doubt  you  have  had,  and  do  have  daily,  such  difficulty.     When 
you   are  troubled  and  perplexed  by  the  unpleasant  and  dif  cult 
duties  you  have  to  perform,  ynir  hear*  ifien  say?,  and  souiotirrieg 
vour  head  too — "why  is  it  so?  why  wm^Htbe  so?  what  good  doe? 


THE    AFFLICTED.  iill 

this  poor  creature  do  in  the  world?"  Perhaps  yoU  cannot  sec 
any  at  all,  but  have  continually  staring  you  in  the  face,  the  misc 
ries  it  endures,  and  the  trouble,  and  labor,  and  expense  it  gives 
you  and  others.  Nothing  is  more  natural  than  this — nothing  is 
more  common.  You,  (and  indeed  all  others,)  are  so  much  ac- 
eustom.id  to  looking  on  the  outward  appearance,  that  you  do  not 
think  of  the  profoundly  deep  and  allwise  purposes  of  Him  who 
seeth  not  as  man  seeth,  and  thus  you  are  prone  to  have  improper 
Views  and  feelings  on  the  subject.  Your  having  these  does  not 
add  io  your  comfort,  but  the  contrary.  Therefore  if  1  can  sug- 
gest only  a  few  reasons  why  it  is  preserved,  and  these  be  satisfac- 
tory, or  even  plausible,  it  may  tend  to  your  consolation. 

In  the  first  place,  the  object  of  your  charge  may  not  be  entirely 
destitute  of  enjovment,  thotigh  it  may  appear  to  be  so  to  yourself 
and  others.  Its  life,  like  that  of  all  others,  is  prolonged  by  the 
use  of  food.  No  matter  how  irtegular  and  morbid  its  system 
may  be  in  receiving  and  digesting  its  food,  it  must  have  some  en- 
joyment in  the  use  of  it.  Even  if  it  is  bereft  of  its  reason,  it 
may  have  many  more  enjoyments  than  you  are  aware  of.  It  may 
take  delight  in  viewing  the  objects  that  are  around  it,  and  particu- 
larly the  different  persons  that  come  within  its  sight.  Persons 
who  are  deprived  of  their  senses,  miy  in  the  flights  of  their  dis- 
ordered iud  wandering  imaginations,  have  enjoyments  of  which 
we  ii  we  no  knowledge.  All  persons  often  have  no  little  pleasure 
in  the  dieams  :md  visions  of  the  night.  But  if  it  has  the  use  of 
its  reisoii,  it  mav  have  very  considerable  enjoyments  of  an  intel- 
lectual kind.  Even  if  it  is  dumb  and  cannot  communicate  its 
ideis,  it  may  hive  many  and  be  steadily  acquiring  more.  It 
m  IV  be  a  close  obsever  of  all  things  it  beholds  or  hears  of,  and 
having  a  fund  of  information  l.iid  up  in  its  mind,  by  the  exercise 
df  i»s  memory,  it  may  use  and  enjoy  such  information.  In  short, 
it  miy  be  moving  on  and  advancing  in  knowledge  and  enjovment 
accordini;  to  its  sphere;  and  being?  a  nice  observer  of  your  ways 
and  doings,  and  conduct  in  general,  may  be  a  witness  for  or 
a.^ains<  you,  according  to  yonr  jj[oodnPss  or  badness,  yonr  fiith- 
fu  nessor  unfiitlif'ilness.  Again,  how  do  we  know,  my  friend,  that 
liH'  is  not  impotant  under  almost  any  circumstances  whatever, 
D'.'ing  and  heinor  removed  in  infmc>,  may,  for  aught  we  know,  be 
a  loss  to  all  who  are  removed  in  their  infancy  or  early  years.  To 
those  who  commence  their  existence  on  this  world  it  may  be  a 
great  pi  ivation  to  b  taken  away  before  they  learn  any  thing  about 
the  wo; Id  on  which  thev  sprang  into  being.  And  this  may  be 
true  of  those  sfieatly  afflicted  and  dreadfully  distressed,  yes,  even 
idiots  and  df^ranureH  persons.  Ccd  may  make  their  stay  altogeth 
er  better  fur  them  than  their  removal.     His  wisdom  is  infinite 


212  c6n?olations  of 

''•How  unsearchable  are  his  judgments,  and  his  ways  past  liiiu 
ingout."  Thus  much  I  feel  warrantetl  to  say,  and  to  sugges? 
with  regard  to  the  afflicted  itself,  as  reasons  and  suggestion*  why 
its  existence  is  prolonged  here.  But  there  may  be  far  greater 
and  more  weighty  reasons  not  only  why  it  is  afflicted,  but  why  it 
is  continued  in  life.  The  greatest  and  most  probable  of  all 
reasons  may  be,  that  it  is,  first,  for  your  good,  and  next,  for  the 
good  of  others. 

Perhaps  you  were  altogether  out  of  the  right  way,  before  this 
trouble,  this  calamity  was  brought  upon  you.  You  may  have 
been  greatly  lifted  up  with  pride,  going  on  with  a  high  head,  a 
lofty  look,  a  stiff  neck,  a  stout  heart  and  an  unbending  knee,  in 
the  way  to  temj>oral  and  eternal  destruction;  feeling  much  self- 
importance  and  independence,  and  thus  being  far  above  the  level 
of  what  this  world  really  is,  and  what  it  is  safe  to  aspire  to.  The 
AH  wise,  in  great  kindness  to  you,  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
you  needed  a  check,  that  you  required  to  be  humbled,  lest  you 
should  rise  so  high  that  in  bringing  you  down,  you  would  eventu- 
ally fall  below  hope  and  beyond  recovery.  And  for  the  same 
reason  this  is  continued  upon  you.  It  is  that  you* may  see,  and 
learn,  and  know  the  truly  humbled  and  unhappy  condition  of  this 
world,  and  be  sensible,  that  "before  honor  cometh  humility.'' 
not  merely  to  be  humbled,  but  to  feel  humble.  It  is,  (if  you  view 
it  and  receive  it  as  you  should)  to  give  you  an  opportunity  to 
show  the  world  how  many  excellent  qualities  you  can  exhibit,  in 
the  most  difficult  and  trying  circumstances^  in  the  discharge  of 
the  most  arduous,  unpleasant,  wearisome  and  overcoming  duties. 
How  large  an  amount  of  submission,  mildness,  tenderness,  pa- 
tience and  faithfulness  you  can  possess,  and  exercise,  and  mani- 
fest continually.  It  is  to  be  a  perpetual  beacon  to  remind  you  of 
your  low,  and  sinful,  and  helpless  state,  and  to  make  you  know 
(hat  your  dependence  is  not  in  yourself,  but  upon  God,  who  made 
you,  and,  who  could  in  a  moment  put  you  into  the  condition  of 
this  poor  afflicted  creature.  It  is  further,  for  a  warning  to  others,- 
that  all,  who  come  into  its  presence,  aH,  who  come  this  way,  may 
look,  see,  learn,  know,  fear,  tremble,  and  be  humble,  and  be 
^vise. 

These  are  reasons  sufficient,  why  the  life  of  this  afflicted  mor- 
tal should  be  prolonged,  and  it  is  unnecessary  for  us  to  attempt 
to  search  out  others,  though  there  may  be  others  discoverable  by 
lis,  and  a  multitude  of  those  which  we  cannot  discover,  far  better 
than  those  which  we  can.  It  remains,  therefore,  that  you  view 
the  matter  thus,  and  act  accordingly — that  you  bring  your  mind 
to  your  condition,  if  you  would  have  consolation  in  the  midst  of 
your  labors  and  trials.     That  you  consider  these  reasons  as  sati^ 


THE    AFPLICTEl). 


2io 


fartory,  and  acquiesce  and  submit  without  a  murmur  (o  the  wise, 
and  ever  kind  allotments  of  a  superintending  Providence  over 
you.  That  you  submit  1  say,  not  '*as  a  wild  bull  in  a  net,  nor 
yet  as  the  tamer  animals  which  are  accustomed  to  the  bndle  arid 
the  yoke,  but  as  a  reasonable  anmial  which  has  its  duty  so  clearly 
pointed  out  to  it  that  it  cannot  mistake.  This  is  not  the  most 
trifling  consolation,  to  know  in  so  clear  a  manner  your  duty,  and 
to  have  steady  business.  One  of  the  greatest  consolations  how- 
ever, is,  that  the  affliction  is  not  directly  upon  yourself,  however 
much  you  m;iy  be  indirectly  affected  by  it.  The  proud  phansee 
thanked  God  that  he  was  not  as  other  men;  that  is,  that  he  was 
more  wise,  more  excellent,  more  holy  and  righteous,  all  of  him- 
self; he  fisted  twice  in  the  week,  and  gave  tithes  of  all  he  pos- 
sessed. This  was  truly  pride,  self-conceit,  and  self-deception. 
But  you  may  most  humbly  and  gratefully  thank  God,  that  you 
are  not  as  this  poor  mortal,  and  be  in  no  danger  of  self-conceit 
Dor  self-deception.  You  can  eat,  and  your  food  nourishes  you, 
and  you  enjoy  it ;  and  therefore  you  have  strength  to  go  and  come 
and  do  your  work.  You  can  also  sleep  soundly  aiid  sweetly 
■when  not  interrupted;  and,  by  beinsr  accustomed  to  be  interrupted 
can  fill  asleep  more  suddenly,  and  sleep  moresoun<lly  whena  fe\y 
momenis  are  allowed  you.  '  Your  mind  can  be  occupied  and 
amused  through  the  day,  by  attending  to  many  of  the  ordinary 
domestic  concerns.  You  may  receive  friendly,  unceremonious, 
sociable  visits  from  your  neighbors,  and  be  revived  and  cheered 
by  their  free,  familiir,  and  kind  conversation.  And,  by  getting 
some  trijsf-worthy  faithful  person  to  take  your  yjlace,  you  miy 
s<')metimes  leave  your  unhappy  charge  and  your  prison,  and  go 
out  and  see  the  world  and  visit  your  friends.  Though  you  should 
not  at  any  time  or  on  any  occasioji,  suffer  your  mind  to  wander 
from*  and  forget  the  miserable  object  which  is  under  your  special 
cbirije,  yet  you  should  not  at  all  times,  and  on  all  occasions,  al- 
low your  mind  to  dwell  upon  it,  so  as  to  mar  and  break  youv 
peace  continually.  You  should  be  anxious  but  not  over-anxious, 
}iot  anxious  to  a  f^iult.  Accordincrly  it  will  be  proper  for  you  to 
induliTf^  your  mind  on  proper  occasions,  in  thinking  about  things 
more  pleasant  and  entertaining,  and  especially  when  you  are 
in  company.  I  do  not  mean  that  you  should  assume  the  airs  of 
jocosity  and  levity:  this  is  unbecoming  in  any  person,  and  would 
be  peculiarly  so  in  you,  and  would  by  no  means  tend  to  your 
comfort  and  consolition.  The  ciiange  from  merriment  and  mirfi), 
to  the  discharge  of  your  serious,  unpleasant  and  trying  duties, 
would  be  so  great,  as  to  leave  you  in  a  state  of  depression  and 
sadness,  far  lie'ow  that  in  which  you  were  before  you  thus  wildly 
nnd  heedlessly  indulged.     My  nieaning  is.  that  yon  should  sober- 


214  CONSOLATIONS   OP 

ly  and  judiciously  enjoy  those  rational  and  priulrnt  relaxations 
and  recreations  of"  mind,  which  have  a  soothii'g,  restorative  and 
happy  etiect  on  beings  const  it  n  Jed  a^  we  are,  and  invo;ved,  to 
the  extent  that  we  are,  in  trouble  and  sorrow.  Do  so  then,  take 
this  course,  and  you  will  gather  in  no  little  consolution.  In  all 
these  things  that  1  have  mentioned,  you  mav  receive  more  or  less 
consolation. 

The  last  thing  I  have  named  was  intercourse,  and  conversation, 
and  communion  with  your  friends,  who  are  your  fellow  mort-^ls 
around  you.  As  1  have  said,  ihey  can  do  much  for  you,  bnl  they 
are  finite  and  feeble,  and  therefore  what  they  can  do  is  only  tem- 
porary and  very  much  limited.  Wonld  you  seek  for  all  that  con- 
solation which  you  are  capable  of  receivmg,  you  must  take  a 
more  extended,  enlarged  and  exalted  view,  yon  must  "look  aloft," 
you  must  look  on  high.  Your  eyes  must  be  directed  to  the  great 
source  and  fountam  of  all  consolation,  the  infinite  and  Almighty 
God.  He  it  is,  who  gave  you  beir,g,  and,  who  gave  being  to  the 
now  miserable  object  on  which  it  is  your  duty  to  tend  and  wait. 
All  power  and  all  blessings  are  in  his  hands.  "The  Lord  is  gra- 
cious, and  full  of  compassion;  slow  to  anger,  and  of  great  mercy. 
The  Lord  is  good  to  all:  and  his  tender  mercies  are  over  all  his 
werks."  And  at  the  same  time  it  is  he,  who  says,  in  the  fullness 
of  his  sovereignty,"!  wound  and  I  heal.''  Hear  then  the  words 
of  his  servant — "Behold  happy  is  the  man  whom  God  correcteth : 
therefore  despise  not  thou  the  chastening  of  the  Almighty :  for 
he  maketh  sore,  and  bindeth  up:  he  woundeth  and  his  hands 
make  whole.  He  shall  deliver  thee  in  six  troubles!  yea,  in  seven 
there  shall  no  evil  touch  thee."  Go  to  him,  therefore,  as  unto  the 
ablest  and  the  best;  and  reflect  as  you  go  that  he  is  not  finite  but 
infinite.  That  if  he  undertake  for  you,  if  he  rise  up  to  do  you 
wood,  there  is  no  being  that  can  put  him  down,  or  in  the  least  re- 
tard him,  or  disappoint  him  in  his  designs  and  purposes.  That  he 
is  subject  to  no  accident,  or  any  kind  of  c^isualty,  or  mistake,  or 
weakness,  but  what  he  designs  to  do,  he  does  without  failure. — 
That  if  he  will  to  do  you  good,  it  will  be  done.  And  with  re- 
gard to  his  willingness,  take  the  encouragement  which  he  himself 
rrives,  when  he  says — "Is  any  among  you  afflicted?  let  him  pray." 
Pray  therefore;  go  unto  God  as  a  child  unto  his  fatiier,  with  all 
your  troubles.  Take  with  you  this  poor  afflicted  creature — stand 
in  his  presence,  and  pour  into  his  listening  ear,  all  the  contents  of 
your  aching  heart — show  him  the  whole  burden  of  your  grief, 
and  let  him  hear  the  long  complaint  of  your  sorrows  and  trials. 
Do  all  this  with  faith,  and  trust,  and  hope,  and  do  it  daily,  and 
continue  to  do  it,  and  cease  not,  and  he  will  comfort  you,  and 
nm  will  be  cooifyrteO  and  consoled.     He  will  li^stcn  to  von  ^.vA 


TUB   AFFLICTEW.  215' 

answer  your  prayers,  either  by  restoring  this  poor  creature  entirely 
to  jilmIUi,  or  to  a  more  comfortable  state;  or  by  resigning  yon  lo 
your  lot,  and  aifJjrding  you  strength  and  courage,  to  bear  up,  to 
persevere  and  endure  unto  the  end.  And  he  will  make  the  end 
of  it  and  of  yourself  on  the  earth,  to  come  about  in  his  own  good 
appointed  time,  be  that  sooner  or  later.  Jf  he  continues  you 
both  here  a  length  of  time  and  even  permits  it  to  get  worse,  so  as 
greatly  to  add  to  its  atHictions  and  distresses,  and  to  your  labors, 
and  toils,  and  trials,  and  anxieties,  and  sorrows,  you  must  not  he 
surprised,  nor  discouraged,  nor  by  any  means  distrust  him,  nor  in 
the  least  re[)ine  against  his  providence.  Trust  in  him  in  the 
Sime  manner,  and  even  more  fully  and  entirely  than  the  passen- 
gers on  board  of  a  ship  tiust  in  the  cip»ain  to  take  them  sifely 
across  the  boisterous  ocean,  and  to  land  them  in  the  desired  ha- 
ven.-»And  he  will  certainly,  whether  you  think  so  during  the 
time  of  your  toils,  and  trials,  and  troubles  or  not,  bear  you  safely 
and  triumphantly  through  them  all.  Esteem  him  and  love  him  as 
a  good  child  does  his  father,  and  he  will,  without  the  least  failure, 
cause  "all  things  to  work  together  for  your  good,"  even  your 
severest  trials.  Yea,  although  (in  the  language  of  an  apostolic 
sulferer)  you  feel  like  saying — "I  am  killed  all  the  day  long,"  yet 
in  all  these  things,  in  all  things,  he  will  bring  you  oft'  "more  than 
conqueror  through  him  that  loved  us.  For  *  *  *  neither 
death  nor  lifp,  nor  angels,  nor-  principalities,  nor  powers,  nor 
things  present,  nor  things  to  come,  nor  height,  nor  depth,  nor  any 
©■her  creature,  shfill  be  able  to  separate  ynu  from  the  love  of  God, 
which  is  in  Christ  Jpsus  our  Lord."  He  will  serve  himself  with 
you  upon  the  earth,  and  when  that  is  done,  he  will  take  you  to 
himself,  to  his  rest  in  the  heavens.  And,  with  regard  lo  the  un- 
happy being  whom  it  isy(jur  duty  to  take  care  of,  I  would  say  to 
5'ou,  that,  if  it  is  capable  of  receiving  instruction,  it  is  your  duty 
to  instruct  ii  very  carefully,  according  to  its  abilities  and  opportu- 
nities, in  all  the  great  and  important  matters  of  life  and  death — 
in  every  thing  that  respects  its  duties  and  obligations  to  its  fellow 
beings, and  especially  to  God.  It  is  your  duty  to  teach  it,  in  a 
plain  simple  manner,  the  existence  of  God,  and  to  cause  it  to 
know  something  about  his  attributes.  You  should  particulnrlv 
endeavor  to  satisfy  its  mind  why  it  is  that  God  afflicts  it  as  he  does', 
that  it  may  he  patient,  and  suffer  in  hope.  You  should  teach  it 
l>)vv  to  meditate  and  view  things  so  as  to  draw  favorable  conclu- 
sions and  to  bring  in  every  thing  and  circumstance  to  comfort 
and  console  its  mind.  You  should  teach  it  how  to  pray — how  to 
go  to  its  heavenly  father,  and  to  speak  to  him  and  plead  with  him, 
and  to  beg  for  help  aufl  consolation  from  'his  patern-l  and  Al- 
mighty hand.     And,  lastly,  you  should  by  no  means  fail  to  ^n- 


l^lOf  G6N60LATION5   Of 

oourage  it  to  hope  with  all  itvS  heart,  for  final  deliverance  from 
all  affliction,  sin  and  sorrow,  and  admission  into  a  better  and  hap- 
pier w  'rid. 

These  things  you  should  do  for  it,  from  time  to  time,  continually 
praying  to  God  most  earnestly  for  his  kind  interposition  in  its 
behalf,  and  committing  it  into  his  hands,  and  trusting  him  to  take 
care  of  it,  as  I  have  advised  you  to  trust  him  to  take  care 
of  yourself.  And  if  it  is  incapable  of  receiving  instruction, 
you  should  in  the  same  unreserved  way,  commit  it  into  his  hands 
and  trust  him  to  take  care  of  it,  both  in  time  and  in  eternity,  and 
he  will  do  it  according  to  his  justice,  wisdom  and  mercy.  Doing 
these  things  and  taking  this  course,  wliich  is  altogether  the  best 
that  I  can  think  of  for  you,  you  will  have  good  ground  to 
hope  that  all  will  eventually  be  well  with  you  and  it.  That, 
though  you  both  are  afflicted  now,  and  may  be  for  sometime  long- 
er, yet  in  due  time  you  wiU  both  be  delivered  from  and  raised 
aoove  all  afflictions,  trials,  pains  and  sorrows,  and  be  put  in  pos- 
session of  all  that  happiness  which  you  are  capable  of  enjoying  in 
the  heavenly  world.  Thus  you  will  now,  at  this  present  time, 
have  hope,  and  hope  reachi.'yg  not  merely  the  short  length  of  the 
things  of  time  and  earth,  but  reaching  into  heaven  and  on  through 
eternity.  Hope,  I  say,  and  hope  of  one  kind  or  another,  higher 
or  lower,  earthly  or  heavenly,  in  all  cases  whatever,  constitutes  fat 
the  larger  part  of  the  consolations  of  the  afflicted.  And  ir  is  my 
warm  and  parting  wish  for  you,  my  afflicted  friend,  that  all  t'ood 
hopes,  earthly  and  heavenly,  may  be  yours,  and  may  be  realized 
unto  you.     Farewell. 

Aug,  m,  1830. 


FOR  THE  MELANCHOLY. 

Many  and  various  are  the  diseased  and  unhappy  affections  of 
the  human  mind,  to  which  the  sons  and  daughters  of  men  are 
sni)ject.  As  it  is  impossible  fori  he  body  to  suffer  without  the 
mind's  partaking  of  its  sufferings,  so  also  is  it  irnpo-^sihle  for 
the  mind  to  sulfer  without  the  body's  being  afflicted.  The  physi- 
cians as  well  as  metapl  yi^icians  differ  among  themselves  concern- 
ing the  nature  and  faculties  of  the  min  I,  when  in  heilth,  or  in  its 
best  state  here  Uilow,  and  no  loss  aboiH  it  when  disordered.  Nol- 
wilhstanding,  they  are  pretty  generally  unitod  in  classing  its  dis- 
orders into  two  great  g.^neral  classes — Melancholia  and  Munia. 

In  this  they  follow  the  ancinnt  Gn-eks,  and  adopr  the  words  of 
fheir  language  to  convey  their  meaning.     The  word  melancholia, 


J- HE   AFFLICTED.  21  I 

in  Greek,  means,  black  bile,  and  was  origiiidlly  used  by  the 
Greeks,  because  they  believed  a  gloomy,  pensive,  slate  of  mind 
to  arise  from  an  abundance  of  black  bile.  The  word  mania,  in 
iheir  language,  means  fury  or  rage.  When  a  person,  with  ihem, 
became  wild  in  the  mind,  and  raved  and  raged,  ihey  called  it 
mania.  Tiiere  are  many  other  words  used,  either  synonymous 
with  the?e  two,  or  expressing  some  particular  species,  or  degree 
of  mental  disorder  or  alienation,  under  one  or  the  other  of  these 
two  general  classes.  Because  the  opinion  prevailed  foi  a  length 
of  time  that  the  spleen  was  the  principal  scat  of  that  disease 
which  produced  a  gloomy  state  of  mind,  persons  being  thus  af- 
fected were  said  to  have  the  spleen,  or  to  be  splceny,  or  splenetic. 
This  is  synonymous  with  melancholia. — It  is  a  fact  that  the  phy- 
sicians have  never  yet  been  able  to  discover  the  offices  of  the 
spleen.  Again,  from  the  fact  that  such  patients,  who  were  men, 
complained  of  much  uneasiness  and  distress  in  the  hypochondrical 
regions  of  the  abdomen,  it  was  called  hypochondriasis,  viz:  a 
disease  seated  in  the  hypocliondria.  This  is  also  generally  con- 
sidered synonymous,  or  nearly  so,  with  melancholia.  It  is  a 
Greek  word,  and  if  we  were  to  examine  its  etymology  we  would 
soon  see  how  nearly  the  two  words  are  related  to  one  another  in 
their  original  meaning.  Melancholia  means  black  bile. — The 
liver  is  that  great  organ  or  viscus,  which  produces  the  bile.  Hy- 
pochondiion,  means,  under  the  cartilage. — The  liver  lies  under 
the  cartilages  of  the  ribs  of  the  right  side,  and  partly  under 
the  ribs  themselves.  Thus,  when  we  speak  of  melancholia', 
black  bile,  we  spenk  of  that  which  is  produced  or  secreted 
in  the  right  hypochondrion,  by  the  liver,  and,  thus  far^ 
it  plainly  appears  that  the  two  words  have  the  same  meaning. 
But  because  there  is  a  left  side  as  well  as  a  right,  there  is  a  hypo- 
chondrion there  also,  in  which  are  contained  the  stomach  and  the 
spleen,  so  that  the  two  cavities  are  called  by  a  Greek  plural  hy- 
pochondria, that  is,  the  places  on  both  sides  under  the  cartilages 
of  the  ribs.  Following  the  etymology,  it  would  give  us  a  rather 
more  extended  meaning  to  hypochondriasis,  than  to  melancholia. 
The  one  however  is  generally  admitted  to  embrace  the  other. 
Therefore,  when  a  mile  person  is  said  to  have  the  hypochondria- 
si-,  you  may  und'^rstand  him  to  have  the  same  thing  as  melancho- 
lii.  The  words  hypo  and  hyp,  are  part"  of  the  word  hypochon- 
driasis used  in  familiar  huiguige,  bv  people  in  general,  and  con- 
veying the  same  meaning  that  the  whole  word  does  in  more  scien- 
tific phrasc'logy. 

Tnat  disease  in  the  female  sex  which,  in  some  of  its  great 
anrl  leadmg  characterij-tirs,  verv  m'lr'h,  re?5emMe9  the  hvpo- 
chondriasis  in  raeuj  but  which  the  ancients  believed  and  mv»st 


J^IS  fO]!?S0LATIOXS   OF 

moderns  believe  to  be  altogether  a  different  disease,  is  called 
by  a  greek  word  hysteria,  which  has  a  meaning  peculiar  to  the 
female  sex.  In  English  it  is  called  not  hysteric,  but  hysterics, 
because  it  effects  them  much  more  in  the  way  of  fits  than  ihe 
hypochondriasis  does  men.  It  is  attended  in  a  general  way 
with  the  same  depression  of  spirits  and  gloominess  which  be- 
long to  the  other,  and  therefore  when  women  are  subject  to 
hysteria  or  hysterics,  it  is  the  same  thing  as  their  being  in  a 
melancholy  state,  with  all  those  peculiarities  which  belong  to 
their  sex.  There  is  an  otlier  and  plainer  term  for  the  dis- 
ease applicable  to  both  sexes,  under  which  name,  of  late,  it  has 
spread  and  is  prevailing  to  an  alarming  extent  in  the  middle 
and  southern  sections  of  our  country  ;  this  term  is  in  plain  Eng- 
lish, the  iiver  disease.  And  because  all  the  digestive  organs, 
the  stomar-h  and  bowels,  liver  and  paacreas,  are  found  to  be 
more  or  less  disordered  in  melancholy  patients,  they  are  said 
to  have  the  dyspepsia,  that  is  a  general  derangement  of  the  chy- 
lopoetic  or  digestive  organs.  And  further,  those  person;*  that 
fall  into  a  despairing  way,  and  think  they  will  come  to  starva- 
tion and  the  lowest  degrees  of  wretchedness,  and  shame,  and 
contempt,  and  ruin  on  the  earth,  expecting  to  be  forsaken  by- 
all  their  friends,  by  all  peace  and  hope,  and  by  God  himself, 
not  only  in  this  world,  bat  in  the  world  to  come,  are  said 
to  be  melancholy.  They  ofien  accuse  themselves  with  all 
m inner  of  ci-imes,  small  and  great,  the  most  atrocious  and 
diring,  and  h  )rricl,  even  '"the  ^dasplie my  against  the  holy 
ghost,  whinh  is  n  it  to  he  forgiven  in  this  world  nor  in  that 
which  is  to  come."  The  pers  )n«»  who  go  to  surh  extremes  in 
blaming  themselves  are  ^jenerally  known  by  all  who  know  them 
to  be  guilty  of  no  such  things,  but  to  be  very  moral  and  exem- 
plary in  their  lives  There  are  however  some  exceptions. 
Lidstly,  because  the  nerves  of  persons  who  complain  in  some 
sui.h  manner  as  I  have  said  are  aim  >si  invariably  f  >uud  to  be 
in  a  state  of  general  derantxement;  thev  are  sud  to  be  nervous. 
I  have  sometimes  thought  thit  the  melical  faculty  have  tallon 
iiiio  a  mistake  in  sayin<r  they  are  ntrvoiis,  and  rhit  \h  '.y  should 
h  ive  said  they  are  nerveless;  be  that  as  it  may,  th^ur  meauiug 
i=.  that  their  nerves  are  out  of  lone.  As  the  nerves  are  iho  imme- 
di  ite  orgaus  ofall  feeling  in  the  aniniil  system,  you  may  rea- 
dily cone*  ive  that  great  uneasiness  and  distress  will  arise  from 
th  nr  being  out  of  tone. 

That  the  reader  may  have  a  little  more  full  and  clear  view 
of 'his  matter,  I  will  attempt  to  giv'e  hi:n  a  descripri<>n  of  the 
g'vvt  outlines  of  the  nervor.s  system  Thn  word  nerve  i^  di2- 
rived  from  the  latiu  word  nervuSf  and  means  a  string  or  cordj 


a  HE   AFFLICTED.  J^lj^ 

tfO  that  the  nerves  of  the  animal  system  arc  strings  or  cords 
running  in  all  directions  throughout  our  bodies.  Writers,  on 
the  subject,  until  of  late,  considered  the  head  to  be  the  great 
origin  and  centre  of  the  nerves.  Some  more  modern  writers  of 
indeiatigable  research  have  questioned  that  position,  and  from 
discoveries  which  they  made  particularly  in  acephalus  monsters^ 
have  advanced  and  maintained  the  idea  that  a  considerable 
number  originate  in  the  spinal  marrow  independentely  of  the 
head,  and  are  so  many  mdependent  systems  of  nerves.  They 
admit  however  that  all  the  different  systems  are  connected  by 
filaments;  so  that  with  regard  to  what  1  have  in  view,  it  is  not 
very  material  whether  you  follow  the  old  writers  and  consider 
the  head  to  be  the  only  great  origin  of  the  nerves,  or  the  more 
m.^dern,  and  consider  the  head  to  be  a  great  system  in  connection 
with  smaller  systems.  Taking  either  view  of  the  subject,  the 
nerves  are  the  organs  of  our  five  senses,  smelling,  seeing,  hear^ 
ing,  tasting  and  feehng. 

You  may  view  the  nerves,  then,  as  commencing  in  the  head 
and  along  the  back  bone  of  considerable  size  and  running  in 
every  direction  throughout  our  whole  frame,  becoming  smaller 
and  smaller  as  they  approach  to  their  places  of  termination. 
Their  branches  and  ramific^ations  become  so  numeroui  and  S9 
small  where  they  terminate  in  the  outside  of  the  skin,  that  we 
cannot  see  them  with  the  naked  eye,  though  they  cover  the 
whole  surface  of  the  skin,  so  that  you  cannot  put  down  the  point 
of  a  needle  without  touching  one  of  th>nr  terminations.  And 
this,  by  some,  is  believed  to  be  the  case  in  our  inner  parts,  vea, 
in  the  bones  themselves.  The  effect  of  a  touch  no  larger  than 
this  is  received  by  the  small  p.«int  of  the  nerve  and  runsalon* 
back  the  little,  minute  branch,  until  it  comes  to  a  larger 
branch,  and  so  on  to  the  larger  stiii,  till  it  runs  the  whole  round 
of  the  nerves,  even  to  the  most  distant  part  from  fhat  from  which 
it  started.  If  it  be  received  at  the  foot,  it  vv'ill  be  instantly  telt 
in  the  head,  an.,  in  the  very  skin  of  the  head,  and  to  the'very 
cnt>  of  the  fingers.  This  is  what  is  called  the  sympathies  o^ 
the  S)  stem.  \nd  that  >ou  may  have  a  more  enlarged  and  cor- 
rect view  of  the  matter  stili.  I  would  inform  you  that  in  order 
to  make  these  sympathies  perfect  and  instantaneous,  the  former 
of  our  bodies  has  placed  in  the  midst  of  all  these  branches  and 
plexuses  a  large  nerve  coinnumicating  with  the  whole,  which 
the  doct<n's  call  the  great  svmpathetic  nerve. 

To  aid  your  view  a  little  more,  suppose  you  had  a  complete 
set  of  nerves,  all  otiier  parts'  of  the  body  being  removed  from 
thcin,  and  ;hey  remaining  entire  as  they' are  in  the  living  s.it> 
iect,  from  ihs  head  down  through  all  the  members,  their gangii«, 


^20  CONSOLATIONS   Of 

trunks,  branches,  plexu'es  and  ramifications,  the  whole  a  com 
plete  but  complex  net  work  of  threads  or  nerves  running  across 
one  another  and  interlocking  in  every  direction;  suppose  this, 
I  say,  to  be  suspended  be  tore  you,  and  then  suppo&e  all  these 
threads  to  be  wires  instead  of  what  they  are,  and  take  a  bit  of 
iron  in  your  hand  and  hit  one  of  the  extremities  a  slight  blow, 
and  you  will  see  every  particle  vibrate  and  hear  a  sound  run 
throuf»^h  the  whole.  All  this  will  help  your  views  of  the  nerv- 
ous system,  and  plainly  show  you  that  it  is  the  great  organ  of 
feelino'  in  our  frame.  It  is  the  great  organ  through  which  we 
have  all  our  aches  and  pains  as  well  as  our  joys  and  pleasures. 
The  physicians  sum  up  their  account  of  the  uses  and  powers  of 
the  nerves  bv  calling  them  the  organs  of  sensation  and  motion. 
With'.'Ut  them  we  would  have  neither  of  our  five  senses  nor  be 
able  to  have  any  m-.'tion  in  our  bodies.  We  would  be  like  the 
troes  of  the  forest  which  do  not  twinge  nor  groan  when  we  cut 
them  down. 

It"  an  incision  be  made  into  a  limb  of  the  human  body  and  its 
nerves  tak«n  up  by  a  hook,  and  a  thread  tied  round  them,  th$ 
outer  end  of  the  limb  will  lose  its  feeling  and  its  power  of  mo- 
tion. The  like  of  this  you  may  see  wi*h  great  clearness  in 
persons  who  are  palsied.  The  palsy  is  strictly  a  nervous  dis- 
ease, and  one  too  of  ihe  most  dreadful  kind.  It  most  usually 
efiects  one  whole  side,  passing  down  exactly  in  the  centre  of 
the  body.  You  only  need  to  see  such  patients  to  be  convinced 
of  the  truth  of  what  I  say.  Haudie  the  palsied  side  and  they  will 
tell  you  thev  do  not  feel  it :  ask  them  to  raise  tlieir  hand  or  foot 
and  they  canno^  do  it,  they  have  no  power  of  motion  in  those 
parts.  Upon  the  whole,  I  take  it  for  granted  that  you  are  nov 
prepared  to  see  that  the  nerves  are  a  very  important  as  well  a 
verv  delicate  part  of  us,  and  that,  when  diseased,  especially  in 
a  hi"-h  def^ree,  we  must  necessarily  be  wretched  throuhout  our 
whoTe  frame.  It  is  tru«  that  the  nerves  may  be  suddenly  and 
violently  aftected  by  any  or  all  pleasant  or  unpleasant  passions 
of  the  mind;  especially  by  fear,  or  being  suddenglv  alarmed; 
but  they  will  soon  become  composed  and  calm  again,  as  a  mu- 
sical instrument  when  the  bow  is  removed  from  the  strings;  and 
unless  the  person  is  a  very  delicate  female  or  the  fright  truly 
(Tieat,  no  bad  effects  will  be  felt  or  ensue  Suyh  afflictions  do 
Sot  gain  the  name  of  nervous  disorders.  The  nerves  are  not 
said  to  be  diseased  until  the  cause  producing  their  disease  has 
operated  so  long  and  so  severely  as  to  put  them  habitually  out 
of  order,  so  that  nervous  diseases  are  mostly  of  a  chronic  cha- 
racter. It  is  true  that  all  nervous  patients  are  affected  more  or 
ip^g  by  spells  or  paroxisms,  and  you  know  that  the  strongest 


JlIE   AFfLK'TEJj.  221 

aiiU  most  violent  and  terrific  convulsions  are  caused  by  disor- 
dered nerves  and  head.  Lest  the  reader  sh'juld  labor  under  a 
mistake  concerning  a  disordered  state  of  the  nerves,  I  nmst  not 
fail  to  tell  him  that  it  is  one  ot  the  most  difficult  and  inscrutable 
things  that  presents  itself  to  the  investigation  of -the  philosophic 
mind.  It  is  totally  unlike  other  diseases  in  any  part  of  the 
animal  frame.  The  following  definiton  is  that  given  in  Rees' 
cyclopaedia,  "Nervous  diseases  arc  those  diseases  which  ap- 
pear to  arise  independentely  of  any  organic  change  of  structure, 
and  are  therefore  ascribed  to  some  indefinite  derangement  of  the 
sensible  and  irritable  powers  of  the  animal  frame,  of  which  the 
brain  and  nervous  svsti3m  are  the  seat  and  channel  of  commu- 
nication." 

Take  notice;  he  says,  "independently  of  any  organic  change 
of  ^ftructure.""  This  is  true,  there  is  no  change  i.i  the  size, 
shape,  colour,  or  appearance  of  these  little  threads  or  nerves  in 
us,  when  th'iy  become  diseased.  Even  when  patients  are  very 
much  diseased,  and  the  se?«t  of  their  disease  is  no  where  else  but 
in  their  nerves,  'hey  appear  j'.ist  as  they  did  when  the  persons 
were  well.  ''When  the  p.Aver  of  Uansmittiug  sensation  and 
motion  is  lost,  nutrition  sliil  g;>es  on,  and  the  nerves  remain  as 
large  in  a  paralysed  as  in  a  healthy  limb.  Perhaps  they  may 
be  diminished  ia  size  when  the  whole  limb  begins  to  be  redu- 
ced. We  kni.w  nothing  of  any  cha:iges  in  th^se  organs,  after 
long  continued  p-'.infil  diseases,  as  cancers  ete.,"  Rees'  cyclo: 
Such  is  ihe  peculi.rity  of  iheir  niiture  and  structure,  that  when 
a  person  dies  by  gangrene  or  niorrifi  ation,  or  in  orther  words  lOiS 
while  alive,  they  resist  mortification  more  powerfully  than  moat 
other  parts.  Yes,  even  after  death  ,  the\  decay  more  slowly  thaft 
most  o^her  parts.  This  may  satisfy  your  mind  h)W  it  is  that 
persons  can  suffer  so  much  and  so  long  in  their  nerves,  even  a 
long  life,  and  all  the  time  appear  preity  well,  anil  at  intervals, 
have  a  g.f-eat  deal  of  strength;  not  only  how  it  is  that  melan- 
choly persons  appear  so  well  and  hist  so  long  as  they  often  do, 
but  ho»v  it  is  that  those  actually  and  totally  deranged  can  eat  as 
they  do,  and  be  strong  at  times,  and  live  a  long  tiii]ie.  1  say, 
from  these  facts  yuu  may  see  wii-  those  (iisordres  are  not  moro 
fatal  tlian  they  are,  hut  1  do  not  mean  that  you  can  see  any 
thing  v)f  the  cause  and  nature  of  ^hem.  1  wish  you  speoially 
to  bear  in  mind  another  part  of  the  defittition  given  above;  that 
is  this ;'' therefore,  ascribed  to  so. no  iudefiniie  derangenier-t  of  the 
sensible  and  irritable  powers  ol  the  animal  franie.*"  Indefinite 
derangement;  un  efined,  and  I  -nay  add  undefinable.  It  cannot 
be  discovered,  known  or  told  what  the  derangemen'  is,  no,  not 
■\Y  the  most  penetrating  genius.     '*  We  are  profoundly  ignorant^* 

19 


says  Rees,  *'not  indeed  for  the  want  of  attempts  at  explanatioL. 
for  they  h&ve  been  abundant  in  all  ages  of  physiology;  but  be- 
cause ihe  operations  are  not  cognisable  by  our  senses,  any  more 
thun  those  which  take  place  in  matter  when  it  exhibits  the 
phenomena  of  gravitation,  electricity,  magnetism,  etc."  It  is 
as  inscrutable  as  the  first  causes  or  essences  of  light,  heat  and 
cold,  and  many  other  things  in  metaphysical  science  and  in  re- 
ligion. These  things  are  mysterious ;  are  mysteries.  The  lear- 
ned world  have,  some  time  since,  after  long  and  indefatigable 
and  almost  invincible  labor,  given  up  that  these  things  cannot 
be  fathomed  and  explained,  and  that  it  is  decidely  (he  wisdom  of 
man  to  let  the  first  causes  and  essences  of  things  alone,  and  to 
attend  to  their  operations  and  effects,  which  come  within  the 
range  of  their  intellectual  powers,  and  which  may  be  useful 
when  known;  the  others  are  not  useful,  and  therefore  are  not 
permitted  to  come  within  the  compass  of  our  understandings. 
They  are  the  secret  things  which  belong  unto  the  Lord  our  God. 
All  this  I  have  thought  it  necessary  to  say  to  you  concerning 
melancholy,  as  you  will  hear  of  it  under  the  name  of  nervous 
disorders;  that  when  you  hear,  you  may  know  something  about 
what  you  hear,  having  at  least  an  outline  of  the  nerves  and 
their  operations. 

But  perhaps  you  feel  at  a  lOss  and  are  ready  to  ask  me  why 
I  have  spoken  to  yoa  so  much  in  giving  the  various  names  and 
definitionsofmelancholy,  about  black  bile,  the'spleen,  the  liver, 
the  nerves  etc.,  all  which  are  parts  of  the  body  and  not  the 
mind;  and  this  too,  when  the  very  first  sentence  which  I  penned 
under  the  head  of  melancholy,  spoke  of  it  as  a  diseased  affection 
of  the  human  mind,  and  when  this  is,  what  mankind  in  general 
understand  melancholy  to  be,  and  what  it  really  is  more  orle-s. 
I  would  just  reply  to  this  enquiry,  that  the  word  melanch>l  y  itself, 
and  all  others  that  I  have  mentioned  as  conveying  the  sfime  or 
nearley  the  same  meaning,  were  used  by  the  medical  faculty, 
because  ihey  believed  trouble  in  the  mind  to  settle  in  some  one  or 
moie  of  these  partsof  the  body,  or  trouble  originating  in  some 
one  or  more  of  these  parts  to  find  its  way  into  the  nnnd-  and 
trouble  that.  Thiis  believing  them  to  be  in  some  cases  causes, 
and  in  others  etTects.  This  is  undoubtedly  the  fact,  of  which 
more  ^reafter. 

I  will  now  gratify  you  by  proceeding  to  speak  directly  of  ^he 
mind  itself  as  being  afl'ected  or  diseased.  H;iman  beings  are  com- 
posed of  two  constituent  parts  aiid  no  more,  soul  and  body, or  what 
is  the  same  thing,  mind  and  matter.  O  .'r  bodies  are  matter,  and 
every  thing  that  we  see  or  feel  around  us  is  matter.  With  ihis 
all  are  well  acquainted.     About  cur  minds  we  know  less,  much 


THE  AFFLICTED,  223 

les3,  but  we  are  conscious  that  we  have  mindsj  and  God,  in  great 
kiucluess,  has  clearly  and  fully  revealed  and  declared  the  fact 
unto  us.  The  mind  is  the  immaterial  or  spiritual  part  of  us; 
it  is  the  intellectual  or  thinking  and  reasoning  part.  INot  like 
the  body,  it  receives  its  origin  directly  from  God  himself,  and 
it  is  immortal  or  deathless,  not  tending  to  or  subject  to  death  as 
the  body  is.  None  but  Gdd  can  put  it  out  of  existence  or  des- 
troy it.  It  is  capable  of  enjoying  much  and  of  suffering  much. 
To  speak  by  the  way  of  comparison,  infinitely  more  than  the 
body. 

It  suffers  from  melancholy,  and  melancholy  is  strictly  in  the 
mind,  and  has  its  origin  and  first  s.'at  there,  when  it  arises  from 
things  without  us,  by  our  thoughts  and  desires  going  out  to 
th^m.  When  any  of  our  passions  are  mo.ed,  or  excited,  or  at- 
tracted by  external  objects,  u\  such  a  manner,  to  such  an  extent, 
and  degree,  and  duration,  as  to  mane  us  habitually  pensive  or 
sad,  or  to  have  a  tendency  to  sadness,  then  we  are  melancholy 
and  our  melancholy  is  in  the  mind.  Perhaps  you  do  not  ap- 
prehend my  meaning,  and  are  at  a  loss  to  know  how  the  mind 
is  affected  in  the  way  tiiat  I  mean.  I  will  illustrate  it  by  afow 
suppositions,  examples  and  statements.  In  the  first  place,  I 
will  select  the  passion  of  fear.  Suppose  you  yourself  were 
quietly  and  composedly  walki^ig,  in  the  bilent  hours  of  night, 
along  a  lonely  path  leading  trough  a  thick  copse  of  dismal 
wojds,  and  that  all  of  a  sudden  you  should  hear  some  unknown, 
loud  and  terrific  noise  right  by  your  side,  and  that  you  should 
stand  agast,  and  your  heart  beat  quick  and  high.  I  would  j<sk 
you  what  it  would  be  that  would  cause  your  heart  to  beat  thus? 
no  person  strikes  you,  nothing  touches  your  body.  It  is  your 
mind  that  is  first  operated  upon,  and  that  immediately  and 
powerfiilly;  and  it  as  immediately  and  powerfully  affects  the 
body,  therefore  the  heart  palpitates  with  hammering  violence, 
and  seems  as  if  it  would  knock  your  sides  out. 

I  will  now  mention  an  instance  that  comes  under  the  head  of 
nostalgia,  or  home  sickness.  A  certain  doctor  Hamilton,  sur- 
geon in  the  British  army  in  the  year  1781 ,  reported  this  case 
as  coming  under  his  cognizance  and  management.  He  tells  us 
that  a  soldier,  who  was  a  welchman,  named  Edwards,  was 
sent  to  the  hospital  with  a  message  from  his  captain,  reques- 
ting him  to  be  put  on  the  sick  lis:.  He  had  only  been  a  few 
months  a  soldier,  was  young  and  handdome  and  well  made.  He 
complained  of  a  general  weakness,  but  no  fixed  pain.  The 
doctor  could  not  discover  what  was  the  matter  with  him;  he 
suspected  he  might  be  under  an  incipient  typhus,  and  ordered 
what  he  judged  necessary  to  obviate  it.    Some  weeks  passetJ 


:i24  CONSUL ATIOIfS    OJ 

with  little  or  ao  alteration,  except  that  he  was  more  meagri 
He  never  had  any  cough,  but  became  weaker  and  weaker. 
Exercise  was  recommended,  he  could  not  be  roused  to  it;  he 
was  put  on  a  course  of  strenghtening  medecines,  and  wine  was 
allowed  him,  but  all  in  vain.  At  the  end  of  three  months  he  was 
greatly  emaciated  and  had  every  appearance  of  one  in  the  last 
stage  of  the  consumption;  in  short  the  doctor  looked  upon  him 
as  lost;  but  a  this  next  visit  he  inquired  of  his  nurse  how  he  res- 
ted; the  nurse  replied  that  he  had  been  very  weak,  and  that  all 
he  had  said  v.:as  about  his  home  and  his  friends ;  what  he  was 
able  to  speak  was  constantly  on  this  topic.  The  doctor  had 
never  heard  the  slightest  mention  of  this  before;  but  upon  in- 
quiry, he  found  he  had  talked  most  desirously  of  home  from  the 
very  beginning.  He  immediateley  broached  the  subject  to  him, 
and  it  was  a  theme  which  affected  him ;  he  talked  on  it  with 
great  alacrity,  yet  with  a  deep  sigh  when  he  himself  mentioned 
his  never  more  being  able  to  see  his  friends.  He  asked  the 
doctor  with  earnestness,  if  he  would  let  him  go  home.  The  doc- 
tor told  him  he  v/as  altogether  too  weak  to  think  of  such  a  thing, 
promised  him  assuredly  that,  as  soon  as  he  was  able,  he  should 
have  six  weeks  to  go  home  on  furlow.  He  revived  at  the  very 
thoughts  of  it.  It  seems  he  had  requested  leave  to  visit  his  na- 
tive place,  soon  after  he  joined  the  army,  but  being  only  a 
recruit  and  but  a  few  months  from  home,  he  was  refused. 
This  had  hung  on  his  spirits-  ever  since.  Thus  the  doctor 
clearly  knew  what  was  the  matter  with  him.  He  saw  distinc* 
tly  thai  it  was  the  strong  and  incessant  longings  of  his  mind 
fo  visit  that  dear  and  beloved  spot  which  was  the  home  of  his 
youth,  and  where  all  his  lively  and  ardent  feelings  of  the  first 
years  of  his  life  had  glowed,  been  attracted  and  riveted.  The 
breaking  loose  of  these  attractions  and  attachments  of  the  mind 
was  so  dreadful  and  rending,  that  it  tore  down  his  body  almost 
into  the  grave.  From  this  time  the  doctor  says  (to  use  his  own 
words.)  "I  entreated  him  to  take  food  to  strenghten  him  for  his 
journey,  and,  as  soon  as  he  was  able,  to  go  out  into  the  open  air 
a  little  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  weather  vvould  permit,  that 
he  might  be  the  sooner  able  to  go  home.  He  listened  eagerly 
to  every  word  I  said.  In  short,  his  appetile  soon  mended,  and 
I  saw  in  less  than  a  week  evident  signs  of  recovery.  He  nov/ 
became  lively,  though  so  weak  that  he  could  not  get  in  or  out 
of  bed  without  assistance:  he  strove  to  set  up;  two  men  took 
him  between  them,  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  placed  him  on 
a  seat  they  had  erected  for  him  on  the  beach,  where  he  had  a 
view  of  the  shipping.  In  a  little  time  he  was  able  to  walk. 
Every  visit  1  paid  him  he  resumed  the  subject  of  the  furlow.^ 


THE   AFFLICTED.  ^^^5' 

which  I  persisted  in  promising,  seeing  the  good  effects  it  had 
already  prodi'ced,  and,  in  less  than  two  months  from  the  time 
he  hud  received  the  promise,  he  was  able  to  leave  the  hospital 
and  go"  home.  This  disease  had  its  origin  strictly  in  the  mind, 
and  is  a  very  striking  case  of  mental  disorder.  The  dreams  of 
the  niiiht  are  the  imaginations  and  flights  of  the  mind.  Their 
povveriui  effects  upon  the  body  f^re  well  known  to  every  person. 
Tney  sometimes  cause  them  to  call  out  and  scream  aloud,  so 
as  to  terriliy  themselves  and  others.  They  affect  the  body  so 
powerfully  as  to  cause  some  persons  to  walk  in  their  sleep  and 
to  endanger  their  lives,  and  some  actually  go  out  at  the  win- 
dows of  high  stories,  and  dash  themselves  to  death  on  the 
ground.  Sjme  years  ago,  the  writer  di earned  that  he  was  tra- 
velling and  was  attacked  by  a  Affian  with  a  large  knife  in  his 
hand.  I  met  him  with  a  club,  but  was  unsucessful  in  depriv- 
ing him  of  his  knife.  1  seized  him  with  the  knifp  in  his  hand, 
and  by  a  powerful- effort  whirled  him  under  me,  and  hel-d  him 
with  a  firm  grasp,  but  ho  had  play  emiugh  with  his  right  hand 
to  turn  the  knife  directly  to  m.y  heart  which  he  did,  and  1 
thought  1  t'elt  it  entering  and  finding  its  way  into  that  vital  or^ 
gan.  At  this  moment  I  awoke;  my  body  was  greatly  agitated, 
all  in  tremor,  but  especially  my  heart  palpitated  as  if  it  would 
indeed  knock  my  sides  out.  These  were  the  effects  ol  the  mind. 
Any  person  that  recollects  his  pr  her  dreams,  can  bear  witness 
to  things  similar.  I  might  go  on  to  enumerate  a  multitude  of 
cases  in  which  the  mind  has,  from  son.e  cause  or  other,  been 
atfected  with  joy  or  grief,  etc.,  and  greately  affected  the  body. 
Persons  have  been  greatly  revived  and  elated  by  things  agre- 
abls  and  joyous,  and  have  rejoiced  in  exultation  and  ecsta- 
cie;*,  yea,  some  have  even  died  in  fits  of  laughter;  and  their  own. 
imaginations  have  taken  the  lives  of  others.  The  account  oC 
th3  criminal  whose  imagination  took  his  life,  is  now  extensively 
known,  and  holds  a  place  on  record  in  our  books  of  !?cience. 
It  is  about  as  follows:  i^oc  his  crimes  he  was  condemned  to  be 
h'liig.  The  doctors  got  permission  to  make  an  experiment  upon 
him;  made  the  necessary  preparations,  went  to  hisJ  prison,  and 
told  hiin  his  sentence  was  changed,  that  he  was  to  be  bled  todeath^ 
and  that  they  had  come  to  do  it.  They  blindfolded  him ;  told  him 
how  many  minutes  it  would  take  him  to  bleed  to  deatJi;  made 
an  incision  into  his  arm,  but  not  into  a  blod  vessel;  pomvd 
warm  water  o:ito  his  arm,  causing  it  to  run  off  and  int<»  a  vessel 
below,  in  such  a  way  hs  to  make  him  believe  it  was  the  rum. nig 
blood;  held  the  watch,  and  kept  reminding  him  how  many  ml-.- 
nuies  he  yet  had.  He  grew  paler  and  paler,  and  wlienibcy 
*.9!d  hi-Q  ib-i  last  minute  had  come,  he  fell  over  and  actually  di^^ 


v^6  COJJSdLATIO^S  OF 

When  the  mind  broods  over  a  thing,  or  circumstance  wliich  it 
considers  caLmiious,  and  has  difficulTy  to  mm  from  it  or  forget 
it,  this  is  callt'd  grieving  or  grief.  I  will  add  one  instance  more 
of  this  character  to  explain  the  melancholy  of  the  mind.  Two 
years  a;;o  1  was  riding  out  for  my  healih,  in  a  strange  neighbor- 
hood in  the  country.  At  the  farther  end  of  my  ride  I  stopped  in 
a  cabin  to  resi,  and  to  see  and  converse  with  the  humble  inhab- 
itants. I  was  courteously  received — a  chair  was  handed. — The 
man  of  the  house  was  not  at  h(>m(^ — the  mother  was  surrounded 
by  three  or  f 'ur  children,  one  nearly  half  grown.  She  seated 
herself  again,  and  silenHy  and  attentively  resumed  her  sewin^. 
Being  we^ry  myself  and  desirous  to  rest  and  regain  my  strength 
before  1  should  commence  conversation,  I  was  ilso  silent  for  some 
minutes,  but  my  eyes  were  neither  shut  nor  my  ears  stopped. 
The  profound  silence  was  broken  and  my  attention  attracted  by 
a  deep  sigh  from  the  good  woman  of  the  house. — [  said  nothing 
—-in  a  few  minutes  1  observed  another  such,  oniy  apparently  mote 
dtep,  and  in  a  few  minutes  more,  a  thi'd  onr?,  which  was  so  great 
as  to  cause  her  to  raise  her  head  and  extend  her  chest  in  making 
it.  I  observed  at  tlie  same  time  on  every  lineament  of  her  coun- 
tenance, sorrow  and  grief  to  be  glaringly  dt'picted.  1  couM  no 
longer  permit  silence  to  reign —madam,  said  I,  what  is  the  rnntie,  ? 
Shj  slowly  replied  wi'h  another  deep  sigh,  that  she  had  trouble — 
that  within  three  weeks  she  had  hurried  three  of  her  children. 
I  tenderly,  and  with  an  affectionate  tone  added,  that  that  w;  s  in- 
deed trouble.  I  listened  with  the  deepest  mterest  to  the  sod  mr- 
lative  of  her  uncommon  trials.  It  was  truly  affectinor. — Tiie 
hardest  heart  could  but  have  been  moved,  and  the  dryest  eyes 
must  have  overflowed,  while  witnessing  the  overflowings  of  hers, 
and  the  heart-rending  sobs  which  it  was  beyond  her  strength  and 
fortitude  to  restrain.  I  conversed  with  her  most  soothingly  and 
atfectionately  for  a  length  of  time.  I  brought  to  view  every 
thought  and  consideration  I  could  possibly  think  of,  to  calm  and 
console  her.  When  I  hid  said  every  thing  that  it  wis  in  my 
power  to  say,  I  told  her  that  if  she  would  call  her  remiining  chil- 
dren around  h(  r,  and  have  them  to  kneel  down,  I  would  p'ay  witli 
her.  This  she  most  gladly  did,  but  by  bursts  of  grief,  in  some 
measure  interrupted  my  most  earnest  supplications  and  inlreaties 
to  the  God  who  giveth  life  and  taketh  life,  for  his  gracious  smiles,, 
and  his  kind  blessings,  on  her  and  her  absent  husband  and  tlieii 
surviving  children.  When  we  arose  from  prayers,  she  seemed  as 
if  she  considered  my  kindness  as  indescribably  great.  I  wjs 
feeble — I  had  exhausted  my  strength,  (for  it  w^s  in  my  feeble 
iays  since  I  commenced  the  writing  of  this  book,)  and  therefore- 
thought  it  best  to  get  home  to  the  place  where  1  then  lived.     l> 


«BE  AFFLICTEli,  221^ 

jhook  hands  with  her  and  bid  her  an  aflfectionate  farewell.  She 
was  at  an  utter  loss  for  woids.  to  express  her  tijanks  to  me.-— 
Though  I  caiint  myself  describe  her  feelings,  the  reader  may 
have  some  faint  conception  of  her  gratitude.  Tuis  was  the  hist 
and  last  time  1  ever  saw  her. 

I  have  introduced  this  mournful  tale. of  wo  to  explain  to  you, 
by  a  striking  example,  the  melancholy  of  the  mind,  and  its  etlects 
upon  the  body.  This  poor  bereft  mother  was  in  good  heahii  of 
body,  and  looked  very  liearty,  hut  her  mind,  brooding  c:nd  pounng 
over  the  uriparalkled  afflictions  through  which  she  had  just  c»tme 
in  a  constant  and  iincontroiable  way,  retarded  and  niade  slug- 
gish, the  healthy  and  active  operations  of  her  body,  and  caus<rd 
hey  to  sigh  and  weep.  She  sighed  to  gain  relief. — She  wept  for 
th'  s  ime  purpose.  The  mind  and  b-dy  are  united,  and  must  act 
together,  in  order  to  their  mutual  ease  and  eiijf;yment.  Her  mind 
w  s  almost  entirely  drawn  off  from  the  immediiite  concerns  of 
hfr  body,  abstracted  from  it,  and  entiiely  set  upon  the  scenes  of 
he;rt-rending  trouble  and  grief,  through  which  she.  had  just  pass- 
ed. Therefore,  the  fluids  of  her  body,  md  p-irticularly  her  blot'dj^ 
flowed  too  slowly  and  filled,  aud  oppressed  her  heart,  not  I'eing 
thrown  out  with  \\s  usual  aclivi*y.  This  insensibly  caused  her 
to  mhale  a  large  draught  of  air  into  her.hmgs,  and  d<  e})ly  into 
th-ni.  By  this  operation  they  were  swelled  lo  their  full  sizt^  by 
the  air,  which  drove  the  blood  that  was  in  them,  out  of  them, 
into  the  heart,  and  stirred  it  up  to  more  lively  HC'ion.  Thus  she 
gtined  temporary  relief;  and  this  is  the  philosophy  of  a  sigh.  'J'he 
ph  losophy  of  tears  i?:  mtich  the  same.  They  are  prepared  by  the 
1  cfirymal  ?.paratus,  forihe  purpose  of  moistening  moderately,  but 
coijfinu.  Ily  the  eye,  and  the  internal  coats  of  tlie  nose,  but  grief 
(:;s  was  the  case  with  her)  causes  them  copiously  to  overflow  and 
trickle  down  our  cheeks  in  briny  rivulets;  and  by  this  uncom- 
mon and  extraordinary  evacuation,  we  gain  temporary  relief. 
These  thincrs,  and  these  examples  I  have  thought  it  necessary  to 
adduce,  in  order  clgarly  to  set  before  you  what  I  mean  by  meU 
ancholy's  commencing  in  the  mind.  You  will  see,  however^ 
more  on  the  suljject  in  what  1  am  about  to  say,  relative  to  the 
causes  of  melancholy   in  general. 

The  causes  of  melancholv,  so  far  as  discernable  by  us,  are, 
like  the  degrees  and  characteristics  of  it,  very  numerous  and  va- 
riotis.  All  persons  are,  from  one  c-^use  or  another,  at  times,  more 
or  less  low  spirited,  ploomy,  melricholy.  No  one  entirely  es- 
capes all  the  surrounding,'  abounding  and  superaboundingills,  and 
ttouble?,  nnd  trials,  and  perplexities,  and  calamities  of  life  and 
time.  Neither  has  any  one  strength  nnd  .courrge,  or  even  hardr- 
hood  to  bear  dl  these  without  feeling,  gloomy  aad  opor^ 


As  it  is  a  fiict  then,  that  every  soul  is  subject  to  disippninfmenfe?J- 
liss^s  and  crosses,  trcnihles  and  trials;  taking  ilus  vi<'W  of  die 
subject  we  might  consider  the  whole  miss  of  the  population  of 
tJie  earth,  as  so  many  meUincholy  patients.  Eve«y  (.no  that  will 
be  candid,  and  spe,-.k  out  and  tell  us  the  truth,  will  admit  ihiit  he 
or  she  is  at  times,  more,  or  less  discouraged  and  low  spiriicd. 
SfiUje  are  much  better  calculated  than  others,  to  conceal  tlieir 
tronbU^s,  ami  bear  up  under  them;  more  patien%  fiipj  and  un- 
yielding. They  will  endure  great  1ri;ds  and  look  cheerful  and 
pleasant.  But  it  is  not  so  with  all,  fir  from  it.  Some  are  much 
more  liable  to  melancholy,  and  eidier  are  not  inclined,  or  not  able 
to  resist  it  so  successfully.  It  has  its  effects  however,  and  it& 
powerful  effects,  upon  all,  whether  they  can  resist  and  conceal  it 
or  not. 

The  first  cause  of  melancholy  which  I  shall  mention,  and 
wb'jch  is  a  great  and  prevailing  cause,  is  a  conslitutional  predis- 
position or  tendency  to  it,  in  certain  persons,  which  they  inherit 
from  their  parents.  The  doctors  very  often  tell  such  patienis. 
Ih  it  their  trouble  is  constitutional,  either  originating  in  themselves 
O'-  inherited  from  their  immediate  or  more  ren)i){e  ai.cestors. 
They  mCLin  that  their  whole  constitution  of  body  and  mind,  is  of 
such  a  peculiar  cas*^,  aijd  the  mind  so  connected  with  the  body, 
and  particularly  the  nervous  system  of  the  body  so  peculiarly 
constructed,  and  delicately  strung,  and  toned,  and  of  such  ex- 
qu  site  sensibilities,  that  they  are  very  strongly  inclined,  and  prond 
to  feel  too  acutely,  and  thereby  to  become  habitually  melancholy. 
Even  these  are  not  without  blame,  but  are  much  less  blameable 
than  some  others. 

Another  great  cause  of  melancholy,  is  disappointment  in  some 
gr  nd  and  favorite  scheme,  undertaking,  object  or  project.  An- 
other consists  in  the  loss  of  something  viluable,  near  and  dear — 
as  of  proj)erty,  or  dear  relations  or  friends  by  death,  of  which  I 
have  but  now  given  an  example  in  the  poor  woman,  and  might 
give  much  stronger  ones  still.  Cases  of  persons  being  inconsola- 
ble about  the  loss  of  very  affectionate  mothers  or  faih.ers,  brothers 
or  sisters,  husbands  or  wives,  &c.  and  pining  away  .in  hopeless 
mehnoholy.  x\nother  great  and  very  serious  cause  is,  disap- 
pointment in  love.  With  the  utmost  chastity,  gravity  and  digni- 
ty, I  would  spe  ik  on  this  subject.  J  consider  it  one,  of  no  less 
moment  among  mankind,  tlian  most  of  those  I  have  already  rnen- 
tio'ied,  or  shall  likely  be  able  to  mention.  I  consider  it  of  so 
great  weight  and  magnitude  in  society,  that  at  one  time  I  had 
oorao  to  a  determination  to  introduce  a  special  article  on  it,  in 
this  work,  under  the  title  of-^The  disappointed  lover's  consola- 
tion—my  limits  would  not  admit  it.     Pdy  design  was -o  ^e?Ghi 


XnE   AFFLICTED.  ^^ 

iiistmct,  caution,  warn  and  guide  all  young  persons  of  both  sexes 
in  this  most  delicate  and  vitally  important  business.  In  order  to  do 
what  [  could  to  prevent  imprudences  and  improprieties  between 
them,  and  those  destructive  and  fatal  consequences  of  disappoint- 
ment, which  so  often  occur  in  society.  We  very  frequently  hear 
of  persons  not  only  becoming  melancholy  from  this  source,  but 
falling  into  total  and  frightful  derangement  of  mind.  It  is  found 
by  the  medical  faculty,  that  a  very  considerable  proportion  of  the 
inmates  of  our  lunatic  asylums,  are  sent  thereby  disappointment 
in  love.  The  female  part  of  mankind,  from  many  considerations, 
and  amongst  the  rest  from  dire  necessity,  do  a  great  deal  more 
at  concealing  their  troubles,  than  the  male,  M-iny,  very  many 
of  our  finest  females,  far  more  than  the  superficial  observer  is  at 
all  aware  of,  pine  away  from  this  kind  of  disappointment,  letting 
no  person  know  what  is  the  matter  with  them,  if  they  can  help  it. 
The  other  sex  more  rude  and  savage,  fight  duels,  &lc.  &c, 
Though  they  too,  in  many  instances,  fall  into  the  deepest  melan- 
choly, from  this  source,  and  into  insanity  itself. 

I  have  long  thought  that  much  more  might  be  done  and  ought 
to  be  done  on  this  subject,  by  the  sober,  wise,  moral  and  morali- 
zing part  of  our  community,  than  is  doing,  especially  by  the  wri- 
ters of  ourday;  and  more  especially  still  by  the  editors  of  news- 
papers, those  far  travelling  wide  ranging  vehicles  of  knowledge, 
which  are  seen  by  almost  ever  person  in  the  community,  no  mat- 
ter how  obscure.  That  much,  much  more  should  be  done  by 
these  did  I  say?  infinitely  better  nothing  at  all  than  what 
they  do  do.  Several  columns  of  almost  every  number  of  them, 
are  crowded  with  fictions  and  liigh  wrought  love  tales,  having 
very  little  moral  in  them,  or  none  at  all,  and  much  better — in- 
comparably better  calculated  to  increase  the  evils  of  which  I  am 
speaking,  than  to  prevent  and  do  themawny — than  to  make  less, 
meliorate,  mitigate  and  remove  the  woes  and  sufferings  of  human 
kind.  Some  few  it  is  true,  are  exempt  from  this  chargre,  but  not 
so  with  the  great  mass.  Editors  put  them  in  to  amuse  and  tickle 
the  fancies  of  their  readers,  especially  the  youna  and^iddy.  And 
I  find  it  very  difficult  to  p^rsuide  myself  to  believe  that  they  do 
not  do  it  in  order  to  swell  the  list  of  their  subscribers,  and  in- 
crease the  weigh'  of  their  purses.  Even  our  most  a^ed  and  grave 
political  editors  are  not  free  from  this  chcirge.  It  h^s  become  so 
universally  fashionable,  that  it  serimsasif  no  political  pVper  dares 
show  its  face  without  having  inscril)ed  thereon  a  l-'.rge  inscription 
and  impression  of  ihi'<  futile  ana  mischievous  trash.  I  would 
rejoice  to  see  the  last  vestige  of  it  swept  aw;iy,  and  greatly  re- 
joic^^  *o  see  the  columns  that  it  now  fills,  filled  with  sound  moral 
ohilosophy  on  the  same  point:  gravely,  and  in  a  parental  manner 


2B0  CONSOLATIONS    OF 

giving  those  lessons  which  would  have  a  tendency  to  teach  and 
induce  both  sexes,  of  a  marriageable  age,  to  act  most  strictly  and 
rigidly  correct  towards  each  other.  To  lay  aside  all  knight-er- 
rantry, gallantry,  and  coquetry,  and  every  species  and  degree  of 
deceit  and  insincerity  with  regard  to  marriage;  and  to  put  on, 
and  observe,  and  exhibit  the  most  modest,  chaste,  sincere,  honor- 
able, pure  and  dignified  conduct  towards  each  other,  with  re«pect 
1o  every  thing  that  has  the  least  bearing  towards  this  vitally  im- 
portant matter.  And  when  they  have  serious  designs  of  fcrming 
this  sacred  contract  and  alliance,  to  do  it  with  all  possi!)le  pru- 
dence, honorably  and  above  board,  with  the  soundest  and  most 
inviolable  honesty,  integrity  and  fidelity.  Thus,  much  evil  would 
be  shunned,  and  much  happiness  secured. 

That  young  man,  who,  by  words  or  actions,  even  in  the  slight- 
est way,  makes  a  young  lady  believe  that  he  has  serious  designs  of 
seeking  her  hand  and  heart  in  the  sacred  bonds  of  wedlock,  and 
thus  enlists  her  feelings,  when  he  has  no  such  designs,  would  find 
a  home  altogether  too  good  in  a  solitary  cell  of  a  penitentiary. 
And  that  young  lady,  who,  rurlely  and  wantonly,  or  even  careless- 
ly, encourages  a  young  gentleman  to  settle  his  feelings  upon  hev 
with  hope  of  gaining  her  affections,  and  who  does  not  modf^sfly, 
but  fully  and  firmly  let  him  know  that  she  has  no  such  mutual 
designs  (if  she  really  has  none,)  deserves  a  home  but  little  better. 
Upon  all  such  deceitful  and  double  deali  ig,  society  should  frown 
with  stern  and  inexorable  contempt.  This  prudent,  chaste,  cor- 
rect and  dignified  course  of  which  I  have  spoken,  I  would  most 
seriously  recommend  to  all  the  unmarried  who  design  to  marry — 
and  to  every  one  who  has  the  great  ur happiness  and  the  almost 
unparalleled  trial,  to  labor  under  disappoina.d  love,  from  whatever 
cause;  either  from  his  or  her  owti  fuiU.  o'-  the  fault  of  others,  or 
by  a  special  act  of  Provide/ice,  I  would  sav,  in  brief,  that  per- 
haps this  object  is  not  the  only  person  upon  the  earth  worthy  of 
your  love.  It  may  be  fir  otherwii=e,  and  thfn^  may  be  a  thousand 
and  ten  thousand  not  fir  from  you,  equally  worthy  of  all  your 
affections,  your  whole  heart;  and  a  surtcient  numl)er  of  them 
within  your  reach  and  power.  Why  then,  »iee(Jlessly  and  foolish- 
ly permit  the  stings  of  disappointment  to  con'inue  to  goid  you? 
Why  suffer  your  mind  to  fill  into  gloomin^^ss  and  melancholy? 
Can  you  not  regan  yoursolf  as  wt^ll  as  'he  widower  and  the 
widow,  when  their  companions  are  torn  from  'hem  by  death? 
Be  yourself,  my  friend,  put  on  all  your  original  strength  and 
courage,  self-comm  md  and  indepondence,  and  restrain  and  resist 
your  feelings  courageously.  I  do  n<it  m-^^n  that  you  should  treat 
the  ohjrct  of  which  you  have  been  disippointfd,  with  ♦he  least 
disrespect,  uuless  it  has  manifestly  deserved  so  to  be  treated.    If 


THE   AFFLICTED.  2Si 

in  the  judgment  of  ethers  as  well  as  yourself  it  has,  I  will  evcB 
allow  you  to  hate  it,  and  thus  you  will  cease  to  love  it,  and  sur- 
m(.unt  your  disappointment.  But  whether  or  rini,  by  all  means 
turn  your  thoughts,  bnd  learyour  loves  away  from  it,  and  in  due 
time,  as  soon  as  convenient,  turn  them  to  another,  und  thus  you 
will  sooner  and  more  entirely  forget  the  former;  your  wound  will 
heal,  and  your  heart  will  J^ecome  whole  again.  It  is  now  time  for 
mo  to  return  from  this  digression  and  regularly  to  pursue  my 
subject. 

Passing  over  a  number  of  rather  inconsiderable  causes  of  mel- 
anclioly,  I  shall  speak  of  only  two  more.  The  first  is  a  sedentary 
and  confined  life,  being  shut  in  from  the  air.  Those  whose  busi- 
ness confines  them  to  the  house  during  the  hours  of  day  or  sun- 
shine, as  well  as  at  night,  are  the  wliole  f«imale  pan  of  the  com- 
munity, besides  many  of  our  mechinic::,  shop  and  store  keepers, 
together  with  all  classes  and  orders  of  studious,  and  ledrned  and 
professional  men.  All  our  females,  with  some  slight  exceptions, 
both  in  country  and  town,  are  confined  to  tiie  house.  Those  in 
the  country,  though  confined,  are  not  sendentary  and  inactive. 
They  h.ive  their  sewing  to  do,  but  little  or  none  that  is  unnecessa- 
ry or  superfluous;  and  this  is  much  inteiTupted  and  laid  aside  to 
attend  to  domestic  and  culinary  concerns;  their  lives  are  therefore 
athletically  <ic*ivc,  and  t'ois  is  also  true  with  respect  to  many  in 
town'*  and  cities-,  p;rticu!arly  the  poor,  and  all  those  who  are  hired 
to  do  domestic  and  culinary  labor  '  Avery  lar«epioportion  howev- 
er, in  our  towns  and  opuent  cities,  spend  their  lives  closely  con- 
fined to  their  needles  and  their  aeats,  some  to  m:ike  their  livings, 
others  to  adorn  and  decora ie  their  bodies,  or  rather,  a!a-!  to  de- 
f.rm  and  make  frigh'fiil  their  bodies;  by  superfluous,  exirav- 
agant,  vain  and  foolish  dtess-^-s,  with  th<^ir  rnilles,  flounct.s,  figures 
and  embroidery,  requiring  a  hundred  stiches  where  ph^in.  ones 
would  require  only  ten;  and  each  of  these  'eM  would  speak  a 
louder  word  in  their  favor,  in  the  j.idgmeiu  of  men  of  wisdom 
and  real  character,  than  the  whole  hundred  tak'n  together.  Loud- 
er did  1  say,  the  vvl'f>le  hundred  taken  together  speak  but  one 
w.rd,  and  that  is  a  very  weak  and  feeble  one,  viz:  folly.  F«;lly 
indeed,  for  instead  of  g lining  any  thing,  they  veiy  frequently  h>se 
their  health,  and  are  added  to  the  list  of  the  melancholy.  '  And 
thus  not  merely  by  being  confined  in  making  gewgaw  dresses  and 
bonnets,  but  by  compressing  their  chests  and  destroyin^r  the  ac- 
tion of  their  lungs  by  tight  lacing. — The  aspiring,  restless,  un- 
satisfied, discontented  slate  of  their  minds,  tends"  grei-tly  to  ihe 
same  unhappy  end.  They  are  nM  students,  but  they  smkIv,  pon- 
der, hope  and  fear.    Their  nervous  systems  are  much  more  deli- 


^32  CONSOLATIONS    OF 

cate,  and  of  course  their  sensibilities  far  more  acute.  These  aie 
the  causes  of  much  melancholy  arntmg  cheni. 

There  is  one,  and  only  one  other  cause  of  melancholy  which 
I  shall  ui^^ntion,  and  that  is  a  studious  life  added  to  a  sedentary 
and  confined  one.  This  belongs  almost  exclusively  to  the  male 
sex.  U  is  to  men  we  look  for  teachers,  o^jitors,  writers,  authors, 
doctors,  lawyers  and  divines,  and  this  ve^y  properly  too,  and  ac- 
cording to  the  arrangement  of  nature  It  reijuires  great  and  al- 
most invincible  strength  of  constitution,  to  endure  a  long  and 
severe  course  of  study.  It  is.  generally  speaking,  oiir  most  talent- 
ed men  that  devote  themselves  to  a  siudious  lite.  Though  others 
sometimes  do,  through  vanity  and  want  of  self-knowledge,  yet 
they  either  discover  their  mistake  and  turn  back,  or  creep  along 
in  such  a  manner  as  never  to  kill  themselves  by  study.  Others 
who  are  really  gifled  with  strong  minds,  are  aspiring  and  ambi- 
tioiis  to  acquire  knowledge  and  to  excel  in  their  calling  or  pro- 
feBsioo.,  It  is  right  for  the  ladies  to  desire  to  be  cleanly  and  neat, 
and  Vq  have  a  good  and  reasonable  degree  of  taste  in  their  dresseSj 
"but  not  to  surpass  ihe  bounds  of  reason  and  moderation,  and  to 
make  themselves  appear  fulsome  and  disg-jstiug.  They  too, 
should  acquire  knovvhulge.  [t  is  right  f<»r  s^udeits  to  -acquire  a 
large  fond  of  g»-;ieral  kno<vledire,  nnd  to  desirfe  to  excel  ♦heir  pred- 
ecessors and  cotemporaries,  especially  in  their  psuticohr  profes- 
sions, that  every  one  may  do  all  Vag  good  thiit  he  h:i^  powers  l(»  do; 
but  he  should  not  desire  to  am  s-ss  knowledge  and  to  excel  at  every 
expense  and  all  hazards — at  the  expense  of  his  he.dth,  and  hap- 
pnif^ss  and  life.  •  This  however,  hundreds  and  thousrinds  do, 
some  prompted  by  good  motives,  others  by  an  unliallowed  »mbi- 
tion  to  excel,  merely  to  excel  and  triumpii  over  oth-^MS.  Mmy 
are  not  aware  of  their  dinger  till  their  consitution  is  undermined, 
shocked,  enfeebled  and  destroyed. 

As  the  cImss  of  mankind  of  which  I  am  now  speaking,  is  the 
liighest  in  society,  and  therefore  deserves  our  first  md  best  atten- 
tion, and  as  I  wish  to  add  a  few  more  remirks  relntive  to  nervous 
disorders  in  co;nipc'ion  with  general  and  local  diss  ises,  I  will 
ende.ivor  to  give  the  reader  a  concise  but  comprehensive  descrii"*- 
tion  of  the  very  common  process  in  which  students  become 
diseased  and  melancholy.  S'udents  who  are  really  studcntsand  wor- 
thy of  the  n-iine,  dev.>t(^  Mnd  'ipply  themselves  with  all  the  ener«ies 
of  theii  rnind'5;  and  are  so  entirely  engrossed  and  a'-'^ori>ed  in 
their  favorite  pursuit,  th\t  no  comuon  thing  turns  them  issde 
from  it  by  d^y,  and  tl>e  darkness  of  the  night  they  e\'|)ei  from 
around  them  l)V  the  steady  blaze  of  their  nocturnal,  dontestic 
luminaries.  During  these  mental  labors 'here  is  no  part  of  tlieir 
bodies  which  they  can  advantageously  use,  to  give  it  any  thinw 


i^juE  APTLrcri'.f).  233 

-Sike  proper  and  needful  exercise  but  iheii  eyes  and  their  norves, 
and  these  they  not  only  use,  but  in  many  instances,  greatly  abuse, 
particularly  their  nerves,  of  which  I  shall  say  more  hereafter. 
Such  is  the  constitution  and  physiology  of  their  nature,  and  the 
connection  of  their  souls  and  bodies,  that  it  is  greatly  hazardous 
to  employ  the  one  to  the  neglect  of  the  other.  Either  course  is 
ruinous.  The  minds  of  students  are  wearied  by  too  constant 
and  intense  labor  and  activity,  as  vvell  as  the  nerves  of  their  bodies, 
Whether  or  not,  holy  and  happy,  disembodied  spirits  ever  become 
weary  in  the  active  discharge  of  their  pleasant  duties,  we  are  un- 
able to  say.  It  is  certain,  however,  that  if  they  do.  it  is  not  a 
weariness  which  reduces  their  happiness,  but  their  resting  again 
tends  to  the  perfection  of  it.  Heaven  is  sometimes  represented 
as  a  pl'ice  of  rest,  at  others,  as  a  place  of  great  activity.  The 
world  in  which  we  dwell  we  know  to  be  a  world  of  sin,  and  mis- 
ery, and  imperfection.  Our  souls  and  bodies  are  diseased  and 
liable  to  be  weary  and  enfeebled.  The  scriptures  speak  of  the 
soni  as  bemg'^veary'" — as  "fainting"  and  being  "grieved,"  6lc. 
We  have  no  difflcnlty  in  believing  that  our  bodies  can  become 
weary.  About  the  v.efjiiness  and  sufferings  of  our  souls  inde- 
pendently of  our  bodies,  we  know  nothing  by  experience,. in  our 
present  state.  It  is  perhaps  illogical  and  incorrect  to  speak  of  the 
one  as.  suffering  wilhont  the  other;  such  is  the  intim-cy  and 
closeness  of  their  cnnection.  But  it  is  not  incorrect  to  speak  of 
trouble  commeTicirg  in  theoneor  theother,  as  I  liave  spoken  at  1  ugd 
in  explaminsr  the  commencement  of  mrlanch^ly,  when  it  has  its 
origin  in  the  mind.  Neither  can  it  be  inmrrect  tc  speak  of  trouble 
commencing  in  b^h  at  once,  as  1  ^m  now  doing.  In  the  mind 
and  parts  of  the  body  by  excessive  exercise,  in  other  p  irts  of  the 
body,  by  the  want  of  exercise.  Perliaps  the  reader  is  read)  to 
ask  me  how  the  minds  of  stuients  can  become  weary  in  acquiring 
knowledge,  when  their  minds  constantly  take  delight  in  this  ex- 
erase.  If  ir  were  true  that  their  minds  constantly  took  delight, 
and  met  with  nothing  unpleasmt,  I  might  hwe  difficulty  to  an 
swer,  but  as  this  is  not  the  fac^.I  piesnme  I  sh  11  have  none.  The 
very  labor  which  their  minds  have  in  gaining  knowledge,  and  the 
slowness  with  which  they  are  compelled  to  do  it,  and  the  disap- 
pointments they  very  frequently  meet  with,  when  they  have 
gained  it,  are  abundantly  sufficient  to  weary  their  minds,  say- 
ing nothing  ai>out  the  uneasiness  of  their  bodies  all  the  while. 
But  we  know  much  more,  and  are  able  to  speak  wi<h  a  great  deal 
more  clearness,  concerning  their  bodies,  and  it  is  always  more 
profitable  to  confine  ourselves  to  things  that  come  within  our 
reach.  The  want  of  exercising  certain  parts  of  their  bodies,  I 
Jock  upon  as  one  o^  the  main  causes  of  students  becomuig  di5  • 

20 


234  CONSOLATIONS   OF 

eased  and  melancholy.     Our  bodies  were  made  for  action.  Their 
action  is  two  fold,  voluntary  and  involuntary.     Their  involuntary 
action  is  the  action  of  their  stomachs  and  bowels;  heart,  lungs, 
liver  and  other  internal   vessels.     Our  lungs  heave  without  our 
choosing  to  breathe,  therefore,  when  we  go  to  sleep,  we  do  not  forget 
to  breathe.     Our  hearts  beat,  and  the  blood  goes  out  of  them,  and 
ilows  throughout  our  frames,  not  by  any  volition  of  ours.    After  the 
process  of  swallowing,  the  food  moves  along  through  our  stom- 
achs, and  bowels,    by  the  same    involuntary  motion.     It   is  in 
the  sanje   manner  that  the  perspirable  matter   or  sweat,  comes 
forth  and   goes   off.     It  requires  only   a  glance   of  thought  for 
a    person    to    see    the  correctness  of  this,  and  the    difference 
there    is  between    the    voluntary  and    involuntary    motion    of 
human  bodies.     Their  voluntary  motion  is  the  moving  of  a  hand, 
leg,   or  the  whole  body   or  any    part  of  it,  from  place  to  place. 
Any  one  can  see  the  difference  between   a  person's  raising  his 
hand,  and  the  beating  of  his  heart.     Man  was  made  for  this  two 
fold  action,  this  double  motion.     By   voluntary  motion  he  was 
prepared  to  labor  and  earn  his  bread,  and  while  he  was  doing  this, 
involuntary  rnotion  was  to  go  on,   and   his  food  was  to  nourish 
him.     Voluntary  rnotion  was  to  assist  and  facilitate  in\oluntary 
motion.     Students,    v^hile  studying,  suspend  voluntary  motion, 
and  therefore  all  the  involuntary  motions  of  their  bodies,  as  above 
described,  are  retarded,  and  g^Mieral  injury  ensues,  their  food  does 
not  regularly  and  properly  nourish  them,   though  their  appetites 
for  a  length  of  time  continued  good.     Wlien  they  persist  in   this 
course,  some  for  a  greater,  and  some  for  a  less  number  of  years, 
not  generally  less  than  three   or  four,  those  whose  constitutions 
are  not  unconr.monly  good,  feel   themselves  to%e  enfeebled  and 
diseased.     Some  are  diseased  in  a  more  general  way,  and  then  it 
is  usual  to  call  their  disease  by  a  general  term,  (viz:)  dyspepsia, 
which  I  have  before  explained  to  convey  the  idea  of  a  generally 
deranged  state  of  the  digestive  organs,  stomach,   bowels,  liver, 
&c.     In  others,  the  trouble  settles  on  some  one  of  these  organs; 
more  commonly  the  liver  than  any  other,  and  then  it  is  called  the 
liver  disease,  or  in   more  scientific  language,  biliary  or  hepatic 
derangement.     But  in  both  cases  the  diseases  are  generally  be- 
lieved to  commence  in  the  stomach. 

In  giving  an  account  or  description  of  the  manner  in  which 
students  become  diseased  and  melancholy,  I  have  now  spoken  of 
the  excessive  exercise  of  their  minds,  considered  independently 
of  their  bodies,  and  of  the  want  of  action  or  motion  in  their 
bodies.  But  there  is  another  part  or  system  in  their  bodies 
which  I  have  said  was  not  only  exercised  by  students,  but  too  se- 
verely exercised, and  abused ,  I  mean  the  nerves.    To  \hcpi  I  have 


THE    AFFLICTED.  235 

already  aliuded,  and  of  them  promised  to  speak  move  at  length,- 
I  have  said  that  they  were  one  out  of  two  parts  of  the  body, 
mainly  used  by  students  in  acquiring  knowledge,  and  very  gener- 
ally over  used,  that  is, abused.  As  1  proceed,  1  expect  it  will  ap- 
pear, that  taking  one  view  of  them,  they  are  exercised  too  much, 
but  taking  another,  not  enough.  That  is,  they  are  exercised  too 
much  by  the  mind,  but  not  enough  in  connection  with  the  body, 
or  as  a  part  of  the  body.  The  mind  is  an  immaterial,  spiritual 
substance,  connected  but  not  mixed  with  the  body.  Its  connec- 
tion is  generally  allowed  and  believed  to  be  more  immediately 
with  the  brain  and  nerves,  than  any  other  part.  It  uses  the  nerves 
as  its  great  organ  or  instrument.  Therefore,  wlien  the  minds  of 
students  begin  to  labor  and  search  after  knowledge,  they  use  the 
nerves  in  this  great  and  laudable  work  and  pursuit.  And  using 
them,  and  continuing  to  use  them  intensely  and  incessantly,  they 
become  oppressed,  abused,  disordered.  I  liave  already  told  the 
reader,  at  length,  what  is  meant  by  disordered  nerves.  As  they 
are  a  part  of  the  body,  it  is  manifest  that  if  the  body  were  exer- 
cised they  would  be  exercised,  and  thereby  be  better  able  to  serve 
the  mind  and  to' endure  its  severe  use  of  them. 

Thus  I  have  described  the  manner  m  which  students  most  com- 
monly become  diseased;  and  in  doing  it,  I  have  all  along  alluded 
to  a  preventive  or  safe-guard  for  them.  This  safe-guard  is  ex- 
ercise, the  regular  and  systematic  exercise  of  their  bodies.  In 
this  all  agree,  the  learned  and  unlearned.  I  have  never  yet  heard 
a  dissenting  voice.  The  medical  faculty  cry  loudly  and  strongly 
— exercise!  exercise!  exercise!  Hundreds,  and  I  may  say  thous- 
ands, of  the  most  talented,  and  promising  son&of  America,  in  our 
schools,  and  colleges,  and  seminaries,  and  in  private,  fall  a  prey 
to  disease  and  melancholy,  and  in  many  instances,  to  death  itsel', 
in  the  manner  above  described.  Students  are  more  liable  to  dis- 
ease and  melancholy  than  sedentary  mechanics,  because  they 
use  the  mind  more  and  the  body  less.  The  preventive  and  cure 
then,  are  known,  and  all  are  sensible  of  it,  even  students  them- 
selves^, in  some  measure  at  least.  But  their  hunger  and  thirst  for 
knowledge,  drive  them  on,  contrary  to  their  better  judgment,  to 
their  own  ruin;  and  thus  the  finest  intellectual  flowers  of  our  na- 
tion, are  constantly,  either  withering  around  us  and  dragging  out 
a  sad,  miserable,  melancholy,  and  almost  useless  life,  or  falling 
directly  into  premature  graves,  and  leaving  parents  and  friends  to 
mourn  and  grieve  under  the  stings  of  disappointed  hope.  TJie 
time  for  reform  has  long  since  come.  All,  as  I  have  said,  are 
sensible  of  the  evil  and  know  the  remedy.  Some  few,  who  stand 
at  the  head  of  education,  particularly  in  the  eastern  sections  of 
our  land,  have  girded  up  their  loins,  put  on  strength  and  courage 


230  C©J?SOLATIONd  OF 

^nd  resolved  to  bring  about  this  greatly  needed  reformation ,.  in 
the  mode  of  acquiring  an  education;  and  are  laboring  and  stri- 
ving in  this  most  commendable  enterprize.  They  not  only  say  to 
students  that  it  would  be  good  to  take  exercise,  but  they  take 
hold  of  them  and  tear  them  away  from  their  books,  like  tearing  a 
miser  from  his  gold,  and  say  to  them  "you  shall  take  exercise, 
and  useful  and  profitable  exercise,  regularly,  a  ceitain  number 
of  hours  every  day,  in  some  mechanical  or  agricultural  business/* 
This  is  good — this  is  at  it  ought  to  be.  Flattering  success  has 
already  crowned  their  efforts.  This  reformation  is  just  com- 
mencing, in  a  very  slight  degree  west  of  the  Alleghany  Moun- 
tains, and  my  only  fears  are,  that  the  wisdom,  foresight^  courage 
and  perseverance  of  those  who  stand  at  the  head  of  it,  will  not 
^e  commensurate  to  the  magnitude  and  desirableness  of  the  en- 
terprize, and  the  noble  object  will  remain  to  be  accomplished  by 
their  successors.  My  warmest  desires  are,  that  it  may  not  be  so, 
but  that  success  may  crown  present  efforts.  The  intrinsic  magni- 
tude of  this  matter  to  the  prosperity  and  glory  of  our  nation,  in 
literature  and  science,  I  consider  a  sufficient  apology  for  this  di- 
gression. Students,  owing  to  the  great  and  excessive  use  of  then- 
minds  and  nerves,  arid  the  inertness  and  torpidity  of  their  bodies 
furpieh  mpre  cases  of  melancholy,  of  one  degree  or  another,  than 
any  other  class  of  mankind. 

I  will  now  add  what  1  further  designed,  relative  to  their  nerves, 
in  connection  with  general  and  local  internal  diseases.  I  have 
already  described  these  diseases  with  their  origin,  and  disordered 
nerves  with  the  origin  of  their  disorder.  In  order  to  lay  before 
the  reader  in  a  perspicuous  manner  what  I  have  in  view,  I  shaU 
he  compelled  to  turn  his  attention  to  a  word  or  two  more  on 
ihe  anatomy  and  physiology  of  the  nerves. 

It  is  an  obvious  fact  that  a  part  of  our  nerves  terminate  on  our 
outward  surface,  and  another  part  on  our  internal  parts.  Far  the 
larger  proportion  terminate  in  the  skin. — Those  that  go  inwardly,, 
go  to  the  organs  of  digestion,  circulation,  respiration,  secretion, 
^-c.  Some  physicians  denominate  those  that  go  outwardly,  the 
nerves  of  animal  life,  and  those  that  go  inwardly,  the  nerves  of 
organic  life.  It  matters  not  whether  this  distinction  is  correct  or 
not,  so  far  as  it  concerns  what  I  have  in  view.  Correct  or  not,  it 
is  certain  that  man  resembles  plants,  in  his  growth.  Plants  grow 
out  of  the  soil  by  means  of  their  roots.  Man's  stomach  and 
bowels  contain  the  soil  out  of  which  he  grows.  Plants  are  said 
to  have  organic  life,  and  are,  with  very  few  exceptions,  destitute 
of  feeling. — This  is  the  reason  why  their  life  is  called  organic 
life.  When  physicians  speak  of  organic  life  in  man,  they  mean 
those  parts  of  him  in  which  he  resembles  plants^  such  as  I 


THE     AFFLICTEB.  -^^ 

have  spoken  of.  By  animal  life  I  mean  all  those  parts  and  opera-, 
tions  ill  him,  as  tiie  flowing  of  the  blood,  respiration,  motion, 
&c.  in  which  he  resembles  all  other  animals.  Saying  nothing 
more  about  these  distinctions,  it  is  a  fact,  thit  the  nerves  which 
go  inwardly,  as  I  have  described,  are  m  ich  fewer  than  those  that 
ao  outwardlv,  and  they  being  tiie  channels  of  knowledge,  it  fol- 
Tows,  that  we  can  know  much  less  of  our  internal  than  of  our 
e^aern  d  members,  much  less  of  our  heart  and  lungs,  stomach, 
bowels  and  liver,  than  of  our  hinds  and  feet.  The  wisdom  of 
our  Creator  in  this  is  conspicuous.— He  never  designed  us  to  have 
as  much  dealing  with  our  internal  parts,  as  with  things  and  be- 
ings without  us,  and  around  us.  ^Ve  cannot  see  within  us,  and 
we  should  know  nothing  of  the  forms  of  our  internal  members, 
if  we  were  not  to  open  animal  bodies,  and  see,  and  feel,  and  ex- 
amine their  internal  parts  by  our  external  senses.  We  should 
know  nothing  of  the  shape  and  size  of  our  hearts,  livers,  &c. 
indeed  we  would  not  even  know  that  we  have  livers  at  all,  saying 
nothing  about  their  size  or  offices, notwithstanding  the  liver  is  i he 
largest^  viscus  in  us.  Fewer  nerves  go  to  the  heart  and  liver 
than  to  any  other  internal  ovgaivs.  There  is  therefore,  very  htUe 
feehng  in  them,  when  in  a  healthy  state;  when  diseased  they 
can  give  ns  pain  enough. 

There  is  no  necessity  for  our  having  any  knowledge  of  our 
internal  parts,  except  when  .diseased.  The  great  design  of  paui, 
in  a  physiological  sense,  is  to  direct  the  attention  of  the  mind  to 
the  parts  in  which  the  pun  is,  in  order  that  we  may  do  what  we 
can  to  relieve  them.  Acute  diseases,  whether  local  or  general, 
increase  of  course,  the  nervous  sensibilities.  Those  more  dull, 
and  heavy,  and  torpid,  as  the  palsy,  &c.  deaden  their  sensibili- 
ties. Melanchol)  persons  are  jTenerally  subject  to  both  acute 
and  torpid  sensations,  being  tossed  about  from  one  extreme  to 
another.  This  is  the  case  w'ith  students  who  become  mel  inch  >ly. 
N  )thwith3tanding  all  their  nerves,  both  those  terminatingexternilly 
and  internally,  are  at  times,  greatly  quickened  in  their  sensibilities, 
yet  it  is  a  fact  that  they  labor  under  very  great  mistakes,  wiih 
respect  to  their  i  iternal  diseases.  This  arises  out  of  the  obscure 
and  uncertain  reports  which  are  sent  to  the  mind,  from  the  ab- 
dominal viscera,  along  those  comparatively  few  nerves,  with 
wliich  they  are  supplied;  as  also  from  th.;  generally  deranu^d 
St  ite  of  all  their  nerves.-  Hypochondriac  and  hysteric  patients, 
receive  so  many  various,  fdse,  untrue,  exaggerated  and  contra- 
dictory reports  from  the  abdomen,  that  they  fmcy  a  thousand 
things  that  are  untrue  with  respect  tothestiie  cf  things  there. 
H'^:ice,  their  anxieties,  and  dis're^s,  and*  d  eadfd  forebodings 
concerning'  their    health.    About   all  other  matters  their  judge- 


ZS8  <;iftfS0LATIONS  o? 

inenls  are  as  sound  and  correct  as  they  were  before  they  became 
dii^eased.  .  These  observations  v;.  11  tend  to  show  the  reasons  oi 
their  frf^queiit  mistakes,  when  their  disease  is  general,  and  has 
no't  settled  upon  any  particular  part.  When  it  has  done  this, 
say  upon  the  liver,  there  is  another  cause  which  leads  them  into 
error,  and  that   is  s,  mpathy. 

Fium  what  1  have  said  upon  the  nervous  system,  the  reader 
is  prepared  to  see  how  p.an  or  any  other  feeling  will  pass  from 
the  part  pained  or  affected,  towards  the  head,  and  be  the  same 
kind  of  pain  or  distress,  ail  the  way,  or  it  may  be,  more  in  some 
particular  part  than  m  another.  Ihus  when  the  liver  is  diseased, 
there  is  usually  the  same  kind  of  pain  felt  up  the  right  shoulder. 
The  original  pain  in  the  liver  is  called  an  idiopathic  atfection,  the 
other  IS  called  a  sympaiheiic  affisction.  You  can  easily  see  how 
these  syuipatlieiic  atiectioiis  cangothvoughout  the  whole  system, 
following  iJie  nerves.  Tfiey  are  not  conhned  to  the  nerves  ex- 
clusively, but  communicated  by  them  to  other  parts.  The  Dow- 
els, lungs  and  heart  &.c.  will  sympathize  with  the  liver,  and  it 
with  them,  when  they  are  diseased.  'J'hese  sympathies  are  mom 
general,  and  at  the  same  time  more  shifting  and  uncertain,  and 
distressing,  when  all  or  any  of  the  abdominal  viscera  aie  diseased 
than  in  any  other  disoideis.  It  is  owing,  as  I  have  said,  to  the 
peculiar  connection  of  the  nervous  system  to  these  parts.  It  is 
but  little  matter  what  you  call  pain,  idiopathic,  synipaihetic  or 
imaginary,  it  any  be  equally  distressing  under  any  of  these 
names.  The  minds  of  students  who  become  diseased,  as  above^ 
either  imagine  that  they  have  dreadful  and  alanning  diseases^ 
which  in  fact  they  have  not,  or  their  minds,  in  the  way  that  Ihave 
said,  do  greatly  magnify  thfir  real  disease^,  and  thus  they  suffer 
in  the  most  dreadful  manner,  and  they  become  disheartened,  low 
spirited,  gloomy,  melancholy.  Upon  the  whole,  from  all  that  I 
have  brought  to  view  on  the  subject,  the  reader  is  now  prepared 
J.oste  that  there  is  scarcely  any  class  of  suflerers  that  drag  out 
as  miserable  lives  as  the  melancholy,  particularly  those  whose 
nerves  are  very  much  out  of  tone.  When  from  some,  or  any,  or 
all  the  causes  above  mentioned,  they  become  very  bad,  so  effect- 
ually deranged  in  their  nerves,  as  to  fancy  that  their  legs  are 
made  of  glass  or  wax,  so  that  no  person  must  touch  them,  lest 
they  be  broken  all  to  pieces,  or  melf,  if  they  go  near  to  the  fire; 
or  to  imagine  that  they  cannot  walk,  &c.'  &-c.  they  have  then  gone 
beyond  the  limits  of  m*  lancholy,  and  become  deranged  or  insane, 
insanity  arising  from  these  causes,  is  not  usually  of  the  worst 
kinci  however,  for  the  patients  very  frequently  recover. 

For  the  sake  of  those  who  may  be  in  an  incipient  state  of  mel- 
?vncholy,  acd  at  a  Joss  to  know  what  is  the  matter  with  them,  I 


THi!   AFFLICTIH).  j^39 

will  subjoin  a  few  of  the  moat  prominent  symptoms  of  their 
trouble,  partictiiaily  as  it  respects  tlie  nervVs.  Yi.y  will  feel  a 
general  uneasiness  ull  over  you,  and  truly  be  at  a  lo?s  to  kno<;v 
\viiat  is  the  matter,  especially,  if  you  have  no  local  disorder. 
And  what  will  be  astonishing  to  you,  you  will  -suddenly  become 
bttier,  and  feel  perhaps  pertlc'vly  well  again,  and  it  may  be  beitei' 
th..n  usual.  And,  if  you  are  nof.  really  restored,  tlj:3  wjH  be 
your  course  con  inually.  As  you  giow  worse  there  will  be  little 
spasms  of  ilie  ne;ves  all  through  you,  jerkings  or  twitchiugs 
which  will  not  give  you  much  if  any  pain  at  all.  The  jerkings 
of*  tne  f  esh  of  a  beef,  immediately  after  the  hide  is  taken  off,  is 
the  most  striking  exhibiuon  of  nervous  twitching  that  i  have 
ever  been  able  lo  discover, — iC  yours  are  bad  they  will  resem  le 
them.  If  they  are  acute  they  will  resemble,  in  some  measure  the 
p.  ickings  of  needles — and  there  may  hv,  at  times,  larger  shoois 
or  dar  s  of  pain,  connnonly  railed  stitches,  but  these  do  not  take 
plice  vers  often,  unless  in  the  chest  or  abdomen,  svhere  there  is 
local  diseaoe.  Ail  those  symptoms  are  more  abundant  on  parts 
lociliy  diseased.  You  may  have  spells  of  lethargic  sleepiness, 
and  contrary  spells  of  sleeplesness.  You  will  he  at  times,  very 
weak,  and  at  others  feel  yourself  uncommonly  strong.  Your  ap- 
petite v;ill  likelv  be  very  irre-ular — ;n  shot,  tins  will  be  the 
sta  e  of  your  whole  system,  in  all  the  thoughts,  and  views,  and 
feelings,  and  operations  of  your  mind  and  body,  and  you  will  be 
almos.  entirely  unlike  yourself. 

All  these  things  [  have  thought  it  necessary  and  advisable  *o 
say  and  pnrnise,  in  order  to  prepare  the  way,  and  be  better  able 
to  console  the  melancholy. 

There  is  o  le  other  remark  which  I  ronsider  highly  important, 
and  whi'h  I  must  not  iail  ro  add  to  the  already  lon^  catalogue  of 
the  foregoing,  h  is  concerning  those  persons  who  are  piofessors 
of  religion,  anJ  who  fall  into  melancholy,  and  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  they  are  the  m  st  wicked  wretches  on  the  earth — 
th  t  they  are  guilty  of' all  manner  of  crimes,  in  thought,  word 
and  deed — and  particularly  that  they  have  committed  the  sin 
against  the  Holy  Ghost.  No  doub;  their  real  sins  and  crimes 
are  numerous  enough  and  bad  enough,  and  there  are  unquestion- 
ably some  cases  of  very  wicked  p  rsons,  wh  >,  there  is  no  doubtj 
have  actually  committed  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost,  and 
have  been  given  up  by  a  righteous  God,  to  awful  desperation. 
These  are  more  commonly  male  persons,  who  have  sinned  against 
great  light ;  but  far  the  lurger  part  of  those  who  charge  themselves 
with  the  commission  of  this  sin,  are  femalfs,  most  of  them  in  an 
advanced  stage  of  life,  and  laboring  under  nervous  derange- 
ment.  and  hysteiic  affections,  of  who-se  delicate  and   di^^iagff^- 


•<i40  CONSOLATIONS    OF 

condition  Sitan  takes  advantage  to  annoy  and   distvesg    theffii. 
That  they  have  not,  at  leisf  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hund- 
red, committed  the   hlaspiiemy  against   the  Holy  Ghost,  appears 
from  their  recoverin:^  and  becoming  more  comfortable,  and  ce.  s- 
ing  to  charge  themselves  wuh  tlie  commission  of  that  most  fright- 
ful   jf  all  sms.      It  appears  also,    from  the  fact  that  others  kn  w 
their  characters  to  be  better  than    they  say  they  are,  and  from  the 
unreasonable  charges  which  ihey  bring  agiiinst  themselves,  which 
oiiiers,  in  their  sober  senses,  can  see  were  impossible.     Like  th.se 
I  have  meiitioned,  who    fancy  thciiselves  to   be  made  of  glass, 
their  sensati  ns  and  perceptions  are  morbid,  and  not  to   be  vk;- 
peu  led  upon.     Generally  speaking  it   is  not  best  to  reason  with 
thein    too  minutely. — It  is  advisable,  when  a  good  opportunity 
occurs,  to  make  the  absurdities  of  what  they    s;iy,  to  stare  them 
in  the  face  as  glaringly  as  possible.     1   have  myself  observed   the 
v.?ry  saikingly  good  etfects  of  this.     They  shou  d  not  be  treated 
with  two  mucii  in.lulgence,   nor  too  miicli  severity.     The  law  of 
kindness  is  decidedly  ihe  best  with  which  to  rule  thern,  and    to 
bri  ;g  them  to  the:n^e!ves,  and  into  a  more  comfortable  condiiioUj 
The  enemies  of  religion  bring  it  as  one  of  their  heaviest  charges 
against  Ciirislianity,  that  it  h  s  been  the  cause  of  a   great  mnny 
P"opk^,  in  dilferent  ages,  lecoming  melancholy.     A  more  false 
charge  could  not  be  thought  of.     It  is  not  religion,  but  the  want 
of  ii,  that  makes  poor  mortals  here  below,  me  ancholy.    Ri.ligion 
revives  the  heart  and  herpes  of  man,  beyond  any  other  thing  that 
Can  be  brought  to  act  upon  him,  in    this  otherwise  gloomy  and 
mournfiil  vale  of  tears.     It  is  tivdy  a  heavenly  light  which  disj.els 
the  gross  darkness  from  the  p?.o;.'le,  and  fills  their  minds  aud  hearts 
with  light,  and  joy,  and  hope — a  hope  which  is  an  an.hor  of  the 
soul,    oth  sure  and  steadfast,  and  which   enters  into  that  within 
the  heavenly  veil.     Is  melancholy  a  new  disease?  did  it  originate 
with  Christianity?     N  »,  on  the  contrary,  <:ll  nation.-,  iioth  anciont 
and  modern,  christian  and  heathen,  have   been  subject  to  it.     It 
i^  true  that  professors  of  religion,  who  become  melancholy,  h.ve 
miny  and  very  alarming  fears  about  religion,  and  well  they  may. 
The  clear  solution  of  the  whole  matter  is,  that  God,  wlu)  gave 
them  religion,   with  all  its  supports,  comforts  and  hope?,  in  his 
r  g  iteous  sovereignty,  and  for  hi.s  own  wise  purposes,  is  ple:>sed 
to  withhold  the  enjoyment  of  it  from  them  for  a  season. — And, 
tiierefore,  they  are  m  distress,  and  mourn  their  lo.^s,  and  are  mel- 
ancholy.    But  everlasiing  thanksgiving  to  hi.-?  ;idora!)le  ani  gra- 
cious Majesty,  he  infalibly  restore.-;  it  again   to  his  children,  and 
tiieir  hearts  are  revived  again,  ai.d  their  mouths  shout  aloud  f«)r 
j(iy .     It  appears  therefore,  that  it  is  as  I  siid,  not  religion,  but  iho 
want  of  it,  that  has  a  tendency  to  make  persons  mela;.choly.' 


XUE    APFLICTE-D. 


241 


And  now,  after  so  long  a  time,  it  has  become  my  duty  to  visit 
you,  my  unhappy,  low  spirited,  gloomy,  melancholy,  afflicted 
friend. 

From  some  one  or  more  of  the  foregoing  causes,  and  in  some 
one  or  more  of  the  forementioned  ways,  the  state  of  youv  mind  is 
not  desirable,  is  not  happy — you  have  fallen  into  a  state  of  des- 
pondency and  discouragement.  In  your  view,  the  world  has,  in 
a  great  measure,  lost  its  attractions  and  its  charms.  It  seems  to 
you  that  there  is  not  as  much  light  admitted  into  it,  as  there 
used  to  be.  All  the  beautiful  forms  and  alluring  colors,  appear 
to  you  to  be  very  much  defaced — the  flowers  and  leaves  have  fa- 
ded and  fallen — creation  is  unrobed — to  you  it  is  perennial  win- 
ter— ihesun,  the  greater  light  that  rules  the  day,  and  moon,  the 
lesser  light  that  rules  the  night,  with  all  the  stars,  appear  to  you 
to  be  suffering  an  almost  continual  eclipse.  You  now,  very  sel- 
dom see  the  encouraging  and  glorious  bow  of  covenant  and 
of  promise^  m  the  heavens,  notwithstanding  it  frequently  presents 
itself  in  all  its  glowing  colors,  and  full  orbed  glories.  Thus 
your  days  slowly  roll  and  drag  along,  with  only  now  and  then  a 
brighter  one,  and  that  but  little  brighter,  perhaps  having  a  bright 
hour  or  two.  For  all  the  busy,  lively  and  cheerful  employment?, 
works  and  ways  of  men,  you  have, .  in  a  great  measure,  lost  your 
relish.  The  pleasing  and  animating  expression  of  your  counte- 
nance is  gone;  seldom  or  never,  in  these  days,  are  the  linea- 
ments of  your  features  wrought  up  into  the  pleasant  and  desira- 
ble paroxism  of  a  smile  or  a  laugh.  Truly  sorrow  and  melan- 
choly hang  heavy  upon  your  brow,  and  your  heart  is  sad  and  sick, 
and  thus  [  find  you  this  day.  Of  a  truth,  my  friend,  all  the  sym- 
pathies of  my  soul  are  moved  for  you,  and  if  I  can  do  you  good 
I  v/ill.  Your  sufferings  are  real  and  great,  whatever  be  the  cause, 
imaginary  or  real ;  whether  it  is  in  part  or  entirely  your  own  fault, 
or  you  are  altogether  without  fault,  or  even  the  shadow  of  fault 
in  tlio  matter.  If,  in  your  own  heart  you  know  that  >ou  have 
brought  this  state  of  things  upon  vou,  by-your  own  impro[»rieties 
or  imprudoncps,for  that  you  sirouid  be  sorry.  Bur  you  may  very 
easily  rn^.ke  bad  worse,  by  sorrowing  improperly.  You  should  be 
sorry  in  such  a  way,  as  to  be  so  guarderl,  as  to  shun  all  such  im- 
proprieties and  imprudences  in  future,  and  not  repine  and  pine 
away  about  things  that  you  cannot  now  help.  Saying  nothing 
m  >re  about  the  causes  of  your  trouble,  f  will  proceed  to  observe, 
that  in  all  proliability  you  were,  and  are  still,  in  a  great  measure, 
and  mf^st  likely  totally  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  it. 

Our  mast  sentimental  and  s>und  poet  says,  on  a  matter  of 
highest  moment,  of  moment  paramount  to,  all  others. — "T^  know 
<iur  disease  is  half  our  cure."     There  is  no  case  in  which  this  caf^ 


242 


COXSOLATIONS  OF 


be  more  true,  than  in  the  case  of  melancholy.  Had  you  a  cieai^ 
and  perfect  understanding  of  your  trouble,  in  all  its  windings,  and 
lurkings,  and  deceittulness;  in  short  did  you  know  what  is  the 
matter  with  you,  it  would  be  half  your  cure,  you  would  know 
how  to  manage  yourself  But  this  is  knowledge  very  difficult  to 
obtain.  On  this  account  I  have  premised  so  many  things  on  the 
subject.  In  order  to  obtain  it,  you  will  first,  naturally  and  ne- 
cessarily turn  your  mind  to  your  own  feelings  and  symptoms. 
Though  this  is  the  first,  yet  it  is  not  always  the  most  certain  and 
effectual  means  to  arrive  at  this  knowledge.  These  means  yoa 
will  of  course  use — use  them  did.  I  say,  you  cannot  help  it, 
it  is  impossible  for  you  to  have  feelings  and  symptoms,  without 
your  mind's  turning  to  them,  and  considering  what  they  are, 
and  what  they  threaten,  what  .is  their  nature  and  tendency. — 
Therefore,  you,  must  be  allowed  to  take  this  course.  As  animal 
and  sensitive  beings,  it  was  ordained  that  we  should  know  what 
our  condition  is,  by  observing  our  feelings  and  symptoms;  and 
generelly  this  is  not  only  the  first,  but  the  most  direct  and  best 
course  to  arrive  at  this  truly  desirable  knowledge.  Undoubtedly 
you  should  take  it  then,  and  pursue  it  with  all  the  wisdom  you 
can  gather  in  to  your  aid.  Therefore,  in  doing  if,  you  will  not 
forget  what  1  have  said  with  respect  to  the  thousands  of  fldse 
reports  that  may  come  up  to  your  mind,  along  disordered  nerves, 
from  all  directions  whatever,  but  especially  from  within.  And 
the  melancholy  are  the  very  patients,  who,  of  all  others,  need  to 
be  reminded  of  this  fact.  Do  not  forget  it  thf'n,  for  a  moment, 
while  noticing,  and  examining,  and  scrutinizing  your  feelings 
and  symptoms.  Call  to  your  mind  how  you  felt  when  well,  and 
compare  yourself  then  with  yourself  now.  Do  not  only  compare 
yourself  with  what  you  were  in  hen  1th,  but,  as  you  move  along 
from  day  to  day,  compare  yourself  to  day  with  what  you  were 
yesterday.  This  is  the  most  promising  and  effectual  way  to  dis- 
cover the  nature  of  your  disease,  and  what  will  most  likely  be  its 
tendency  and  terminat-ion.  Comparing  it  now  with  what  it  was 
sometime  back.  This,  1  say,  is  not  only  the  best  diagnosis,  but 
prognosis,  which  I  shall  be  able  to  mention,  and  to  which  you  can 
resort,  to  learn  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  and  what  will  likely 
be  the  issue. 

When  you  felt  very  bad  some  davs  or  some  months  back, 
you  thought  your  symptoms  exceedingly  alarming,  and  feared, 
and  forboded  the  most  serious  consequences,  perhaps  immediate 
and  fatal  consequences,  it  may  be  you  thought  that  you  would 
become  helpless  and  no  more  be  able  to  walk,  &c',  or  that  you 
would  die  in  a  few  minutes.  But  now  you  know  that  you  were 
mistaken,  ibr  these  things  did  not  happen  to  you.     In  this  way 


THE  AFFLICTED.  243 

it"  you  are  this  moment  very  bad,  you  may  form  a  pretty  correct 
diafrnosis  of  your  disease  or  trouble,  that  is,  a  knowledge  of  its 
present  state,  and  at  the  same  time  you  may  be  able  to  form 
equally  as  correct  a  prognosis,  that  is,  a  foreknovvledge  of  what 
will  most  likely  beitsfuturestateand  end.  This  is,  in  short,  learn- 
ing by  experience,  and  experience  is  given  up  by  all  to  be  the  best 
teacher.  It  will  be  a  better  teacher  for  you  than  this  one  or 
that  one,  old  men  or  old  women,  or  even  the  doctors  themselves. 
If  you  do  not  listen  to  the  voice  of  experience  and  believe  it,  you 
will  not  likely  hear  the  voice  of  others,  not  even  of  physicians, 
nor  believe  them  In  this  case  others  will  know,  and  particu- 
larly the  doctors,  what  is  the  matter  with  you;  but  you  will  not. 
This  however  will  do  you  very  little  good ;  for  if  they  do  know, » 
they  can't  help  you.  "To  know  our  disease  ia  half  our  cure." 
That  is,  to  know  it  ourselves.  The  melancholy  must  know  it 
for  themselves.  Vou  must  know  it  for  yourself,  or  it  will  not 
be,  it  cannot  be  half  your  cure.  * 

But  this  is  the  next  method  I  shall  advise  you  to  take  in 
order  to  know  it  yourself,  lo  listen  to  the  voices  of  all  others  on 
the  subject,  young  and  old,  ignorant  and  learned ;  and  when 
you  have  heard,  make  the  best  you  can  ot  it;  compare  one 
opinion  with  another,  and  judge  wisely  of  the  whole. 

The  old  proverb  "What  every  body  says  is  righr,"  hns  a  cer- 
tain kind  of  correctnv3ss,  and  is  by  no  means  to  be  disregarded. 
If  you  mingle  with  mankind  much,  you  will  hear  the  vox  popifli^ 
the   voice  of  the  people.     The  main  and  great  current  ot  this 
voice  which  will  be  poured  out  upon  you,  will  most  probably  be  a 
torrent  of  jesting  and  laughter.     Some  will  tell  you,  you  hn.vc 
got  the  blues,  the  dumps,  the  vapors,  the  horrors;  others,  ihat 
you  have  the  spleevn,  the  hypo,  the  hysterics.  &xi. — that  you  are 
hyped  or  hystericy.      You  will  be  very  apt  to  be  irritated  bv 
these  clamorous  and  pestifferous  jestings,  particularly  when  they 
come  from  the  more  ignorant.     S  )me  times  your  best  way  wiil 
be  to  pay  them  in  their  own  coin,  and  throw  back  the  joke  upon 
them,  and  if  you  should  raise  a  little  laughter  between  you,  it, 
will  do  you  nr^  harm.     They  will  be  more  serviceable  to  you 
however,  as  historians,  by  telling  you  what  they  have  seen  or 
heard  of  in  others  similiar  to  your  case.      You  will  hear  from 
them  a  thousand  marvelous  stories  concerning  the  apprehen- 
sions, fears,  forebodings,  conceits  and  alarms  of  those   whose 
cases  they  will  say  yours  resembles.     Be  patient  and  listen  to 
them,  they  generally  mean  no  harm  but  good,  and  it  will  not 
be  at  all  difficult  for  you  to  reap  more  or  less  good  from  them. 
As  cases  of  trouble  of  the  same  class  w;ith  yours,  are  alike 
o;ily  in  some  of  their  general  features,  and  as  they  will  t^ell  of 


^44  CONSOLATIONS  OP 

extreme  cases,  you-will  be  very  apt  to  think  that  yours  has  nu 
resemblance  to  theirs.  You  will  thinks  and  perhaps  know,  that 
you  never  had  such  high  wrought  conceits,  and  therefore 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  your  trouble  is  not  of  the  nervous 
or  melancholy  order.  But  perhaps  if  you  have  not  had  so  high 
conceits,  if  you  will  be  honest  and  candid  with  yourself,  you 
may  discover  that  there  is  a  strong  tendency  in  your  mmd  to 
magnify  your  trouble,  to  have  some  degree  of  conceit,  if  not 
the  highest;  if  so,  it  will  do  you  no  good  to  deny  it.  I  have 
already  given  you  some  general  symptoms  or  rules  by  which 
you  may  judge  pretty  correctly,  and  their  stories,  in  addition, 
will  enable  you  to  judge  even  more  correctly.  The  physicians 
however  are  the  persons  from  whom  it  is  possible  for  you  to 
receive  much  more  full,  certain  and  correct  information.  There 
^re  two  reasons  why  physicians  generally  do  not  communicate 
more  freely  than  they  do  to  patients,  on  the  subject  of  diseases. 
The  first  is,  that  it  would  be  against  their  interest — their  prac- 
tice would  be  in  danger  of  being  reduced  thereby.  Should  they 
make  all  as  wise  as  themselves,  they  would  not  go  to  them  for 
prescriptions.  The  other  reason  is  that  they  believe  m  many 
cases  the  patients  had  better  not  know  what  is  the  matter  with 
them  than  to  know;  and  this  no  doubt  is  true.  They  are  im- 
pressed too  with  the  impropriety,  and,  generally  speaking,  with 
the  unadvisableness  of  giving  their  patients  a  few  detached 
scitips  of  medical  knowledge,  believing  that  it  would  do  them 
more  harm  than  good.  This  is  their  general  course  and  prac- 
tice, but  they  themselves  admit  of  some  exceptions,  particularly 
in  chronic  cases.  When  they  have  done  all  they  can  for  such 
patients,  they  some  times  let  them  know  that  now  they  must 
study  their  own  case  and  do  the  best  they  can.  And  when  they 
give  them  up  to  themselves,  they  communicate  to  them  all  the 
knowledge  they  can  concerning  their  trouble.  The  correctness 
of  this  must  be  manifest  to  every  reasonable  mind.  You  are 
a  chronic  patient,  and  unless  there  is  something  very  peculiar 
in  your  case,  the  physicians  will  let  you  into  all  the  secrets  of 
it,which  they  have  been  able  to  pry  into  themselves,  without  they 
see  that  it  would  do  you  more  harm  than  good.  But  there  is 
another  wav  still,  more  able  and  more  independent  for  you  to 
discover  and  know  your  disease.  The  way  1  mean  is  by  books. 
You  may  have  some  in  your  own  possession  which  treat  on  the 
subject  of  melancholy,  under  some  of  the  names  and  forms 
which  I  have  enumerated.  If  you  have  not,  the  doctors  have, 
and  they  do  not  lock  their  libraries  and  will  not  forbid  you  to 
come  into  their  shops  and  sit  and  read  a  little.  If  they  should, 
m'  if  this  is  not  convenient  for  you.  there  are  other  friends,  who 


THE    AFFLlClth.  "'i-i^ 

iiave  books,  and  there  are  bookstores  and  public  libraries  to 
which  you  may  have  access.  You  will  find  most  satisfaction 
in  medical  books,  under  the  head  of  hypochondriasis,  hysteria, 
imaujination,  on  the  effects  of  im*agination  on  the  nervous  sys- 
tem, and  mental  derangement.  Almost  any  cyclopagdia  or 
encyclopaedia  will  contain  all  that  is  necessary  for  you.  Rees' 
is  generally  allowed  to  be  the  best.  That  work,  or  th>.se  works 
which  handle  tlie  subject  in  (he  most  practical  manner,ot  the  same 
time  pretty  fully,  is  the  best  f  >r  you,  particularly  that  which  is 
most  historical,  which  gives  the  greatest  number  of  examples 
and  accounts  of  the  mistakes,  imaginations  and  high  conceits 
of  the  melancholy.  I  am  decidedly  of  opinion  that  the  reading 
of  these  will  enable  you  to  shun  mistakes,  and  false  fears,  and 
forebodings  yourself;  parlicularU  when  they  tell  of  such  per- 
sons getting  along  preity  well,  and  getting  better,  when  them- 
selves had  not  the  most  distant  hope  or  expectation  of  any  such 
thing. 

Bat  take  notice,  and  do  not  forget  that  I  forewarn  and  most 
seriously  caution  you  against  enteiing  into  minute,  abstruse 
and  difticult  study  on  the  subject.  INoihing  -.vould  likely  do 
you  more  injury.  The  doctors  themselves  find  that  the  decree 
of  .he  Almighty  meets  them — saying,  *'Thus  far  shalt  thou  come 
and  no  farther."  And  there  would  be  the  highest  impropriety 
in  your  attempting  to  go  as  far  as  they  can  do.  You  are  in  no 
condiiion.  at  all  to  become  a  severe  student.  It  is  practical 
knowledge  mainly  which  I  am  advising  you  to  seek,  and  I  am 
confident  that  it  may  be  of  the  most  signal  j^ervice  to  you.  And 
the  iuost  striking  and  serviceable  to  you,  which  you  will  likely 
find  any  where,  will  be  the  history  of  animal  magnetism. 
Animal  magnetism  was  an  invention  of  a  certain  man  in 
Frince,  by  the  name  of  M^smer,  which  invention  had  a  very^ 
high  standing  there,  in  the  year  17S4. 

"This  agent,"  which  Mesmer  pretended  to  have  discovered, 
he  atfirmed,  was  "a  fluid  universally  diffused  and  filling  all 
space,  being  ihe  medium  of  a  reciprocal  influence  between  the 
celestial  bodies,  the  earth  and  living  beings ;~it  insinuated 
itself  into  the  substance  of  the  nerves,  upon  which  therefore  it 
had  a  direct  operation ; — it  was  capable  of  being  communicated 
from  one  body  to  other  bodies,  both  animaicd  and  inunimated, 
and  that  at  a  considerable  distance,  without  the  assistance  of 
any  intermediate  substance;— and  it  exhibited  m  the  human 
bo'l--  some  properties  analogous  to  those  of  the  loadstone,  es- 
pecially its  two  poles.  This  animal  magnetism,"  he  added, 
^'was  ca,>able  of  curing  directly  all  the  disorders  of  the  nervous 
system^  and  indirectly  other  maladies;  it  rendered  perfect  the 

21 


246  CONSOLATIONS   OF 

operation  of  medicines,  and  excited  and  directed  the  salutary 
crises  of  diseases,  so  that  it  placed  these  crises  in  the  power  of 
the  physician.  Moreover,  it  enabled  him  to  ascertain  the  state 
of  health  of  each  individual,  and  to  form  a  correct  judgment  as 
to  the  origin,  nature  and  progress  of  the  most  complicated  dis- 
eases," &c.  Deslon,  a  pupil  of  Me^mer,  also  practised  animal 
magnetism  at  Paris,  and  undertook  to  demonstrate  its  existence 
and  properties.  He  commenced  his  instructions  by  reading  a 
memoir,  in  which  he  maintained  that  *'there  is  but  one  nature, 
one  disease  and  one  remedy ;  and  that  remedy  is  animal  mag- 
netism.'" This  curious  and  most  extraordinary  invention,  or 
rather  delusion  (as  it  was  clearly  found  to  be),  performed  so 
many  marvelous  and  astonishing  cures,  and  was  carried  to 
such  an  extent  in  Paris,  that  the  French  king  appointed  a 
committee  consist'ngoffour  phisicians  and  five  members  of  the 
royal  academy  of  sciences,  to  investigate  the  matter,  in  the 
year  1784. 

Among  the  latter  were  Baily,  Lavoisier  and  doctor  Frank, 
lin,  who  was  at  that  time  the  American  minister  at  Paris. 
These  learned  gentlemen  submitted  to  be  magnetised  themselves 
and  bad  others  magnetised  blindfold,  in  separate  rooms,  &c.,  fee, 
till  they  found,  and  were  entirely  satisfied,  that  it  was  a  perfect 
delusion ; — that  those  that  had  Heen  cured,  were  cured  by  the 
effects  of  their  own  imagination,  and  they  were  generally  of  the 
more  ignorant  class  uf  mankind.  Mesmer  and  Deslon  perfor- 
med their  cures  by  means  of  iron  rods,  and  cords,  and  the  lock- 
ing of  the  hands  of  the  patients,  and  by  pointing  their  fingers  at 
them,  particularly  the  diseased  part,  and  by  music,  &c.,  &c. 
This  history  will  show  you  in  the  most  striking  and  decisive 
manner  the  effects  of  the  imagination  on  the  nervous  system, 
or,  in  other  words,  the  power  of  the  mind  over  the  body,  and  it 
will  enable  3'^ou  to  brace  up  against  it. 

The  next  most  astonishing  and  most  marvelous  history  ofthe 
kind  which  will  call  your  attention,  is  that  ofPerkinism,  which 
derives  iis  name  from  its  author,  Perkins,  an  American  of  New- 
England.  This  extraordinary  characier  and  impostor,  by  the 
moans  of  two  small  pieces  of  metal  of  different  kinds,  which  he 
called  "Tractors,"  performed  some  very  extraordinary  cures  i^ 
New-England,  simply  by  holding  them  to  and  touching  in  a 
gentle  manner  the  diseased  part.  Tractors  means  diawers  or 
things  that  draw  He  gave  them  this  name  because  he  said 
they  drew  out  diseases  when  held  to  them  or  near  them,  and 
drawn  slightly  over  the  surface,  without  penetrating  it  in  the 
least. 

After  having  performed  some  wonderful  cures  in  his  own 


THE   AFFLICTKC.  247 

ooiintiy,  he  came  to  the  conchision  that  he  could  do  better  by 
o-oiag  over  to  England.  He  did  so  in  the  year  1798.  For  his 
orand  and  glorious  discovery  and  hastv  and  elTcctual  method 
of  curing  diseases,  *'he  obtained  the  royal  letters  patent"  of 
that  most  enlightened  nation;  and  immediately  went  to  work 
as  the  great  friend  and  restorer  of  the  afflcted.  * 'Multitudes  of 
painful  disorders  were  removed,  some  most  speedily,  and  some 
after  repeated  applications  of  the  metalic  points.  Pamphlets 
were  published  announcing  the  wonderful  cures  accomplished 
by  this  simple  remedy ;  and  periodical  journals  and  newspapers 
teemed  wiih  the  evidence  of  the  curative  powers  of  the  tractors; 
insomuch  that  in  a  course  of  a  few  months,  they  were  the  sub- 
ject of  general  conversation,  and  scarcely  less  general  use. 
The  religious  sect  of  the  Quakers,  whose  benevolence  has  been 
sometimes  displayed  at  the  expense  of  their  sagacity,  became 
the  avowed  and  active  friends  of  the  tractors;  and  a  public  estab- 
lishment called  the^'Perkinean  Institution,"  was  formed  under 
their  auspicies,  for  the  purpose  of  curing  the  diseases  of  the 
poor,  without  the  expense  of  drugs  or  medical  advice.  The 
transactions  of  this  institution  were  published  in  pamphlets,  in 
support  of  the  extra<jrdinary  efficacy  of  these  new  instruments. 
In  somewhat  less  than  six  years,  Perkins  (says  an  English 
writei)  left  the  country  in  possession,  as  we  have  been  informed 
f)n  good  authorirh} ,  of  upwards  of  ten  thousands  pounds,  the 
contributions  of  British  credulity;  and  now  (181  i)  the  tractors 
are  almost  forgotten."  Here  was  another  brilliant  display  of 
the  powers  of  the  imagination  over  the  body. 

These  tractors  were  found  to  possess  no  real  yirtue  at  all  by 
dojtor  Ha \ garth,  a  philosophdr,  to  whom  his  profession  and 
his  country  are  jeeply  iiidehted  for  other  and  more  important 
services.  He  had  a  couple  of  wooden  tractors,  made  and 
painted  so  as  to  resemble  the  metallic  ones  as  near  as  possible, 
and  had  them  used  on  five  patients  who  Wv^re  greatly  relieved 
by  ihem.  The  metallic  tractors  were  then  used,  and  had  si- 
njuar  effects  on  the  same  patients,  and  thus  th«*  whole  matter 
W"is  tound  to  he  a  grand  delusion.  The  cures  cf  hundreds  of 
pri-tenders  by  the  laying  on  of  their  hands,  &c.,  on  the  sick 
in  modern  days,  is  by  the  power  of  imagination.  In  the  same 
wuy,  the  scrofula  "was  cured  bv  the  touch  of  the  king,  hence 
it  has  the  name  of  the  king's  evil."  The  effects  of  magic,  incan- 
tati  -n,  amulets,  holy  relics,  &c.,  &.C.,  are  ol  the  same  character 

The  powers  of  the  mind  over  the  body  are  also  very  strik- 
ingly displayed  by  the  imitative  propensities  of  man.  With 
this,  every  person  is  acquainted  in  the  simple  and  well  known 
act  of  gaping  oryawuiug.     In  comj^any  does  one  person  yawn. 


the  next  does,  and  the  next,  till  all  around  have  very  sociably 
jawned.  Happy  were  it  if  this  were  the  worst  thim^  in  which 
we  imitate  one  another.  Man  imitates  man  in  vice,  and  in  dis- 
eases  too.  Every  body  knows  that  it  is  not  safe  to  imitate  a 
stuttering  person,  a  squinting  or  winking  person,  lost  you  should 
oetch  thesamedisorder.  ''Baglivi  mentions  a  young  man,  who, 
looking  at  a  person  in  an  epileptic  fit,  was  lumself  affected  in 
the  same  manner." 

I>octor  Whytt  says,  "it  has  frequently  happened  in  the 
royal  infirmary  here  (at  Edinburgh)  that  women  have  been 
seized  with  hysteric  fits,  from  seeing  others  attacked  with 
them.""  4nd  the  story  of  the  extraordinary  cure  performed  at 
Haerlem  by  the  very  famous  doctor  Boerhaave  is  well  known. 
It  seems  that  in  a  house  of  charity  there,  a  girl,  under  an  im-. 
pression  of  terror,  fell  into  a  convulsive  disease;  a  bystander 
intent  upon  assisting  her,  was  seized  with  a  similar  fit.  On 
the  day  following,  another  was  attacked;  then  a  third,  and  a 
fourth,  until  almost  all  the  boys  and  girls  in  the  house  would 
be  taken  at  the  same  time  by  these  convulsions.  Under  these 
distressing  circumstances  the  physicians  used  all  the  antiepi- 
leptic  medicines  with  which  their  art  furnished  them,  but  all  in 
vain.  They  then  sent  for  Boerhaave.  In  compassion  to  the  dis- 
tressed children,  he  repaired  to  the  place,  and  while  inquiring 
into  the  n>atter,  one  was  taken,  and  another,  and  all. 

He  flaw  that  it  was  the  effects  of  imitation,  and  as  the  best 
medicines  had  been  used  in  v^iin,  he  determined  to  make  tho 
imagination  counteract  the  imitative  propensity.  He  had  a 
number  of  red  hot  irons  prepared,  bent  to  a  certain  form,  and 
with  the  utmost  dignity,  gravity,  confidence  and  firmness, 
he  told  them  that  medicines  could  do  them  no  good,  and  that  the 
first  one  that  had  another  fit  should  have  his  or  her  arm  burnt 
to  the  bone  with  a  red  hot  iron.  The  childern  terrified  at 
the  thoughts  of  this  cruel  remedy,  when  they  perceived  any 
tendency  to  a  recurrence  of  the  paroxism,  immediately  exerted 
all  their  strength  of  mind,  and  called  up  the  horrible  idea  of 
the  burning,  and  were  thus  enabled  by  the  stronger  mental 
impression  to  resist  the  influence  of  the  morbid  propensity.*" 
One  more  case  1  will  add — A.  child  of  a  certnin  man,  who  had 
a  large  family  was  taken  with  S-aint  Vitus'  dnnce,  whereupon 
most  of  the  other  children,  when  witnessing  the  other  in  a  fit 
of  it,  would  be  seized  with  the  same,  and  this  continued  for 
some  time.  At  length,  the  father  determined  to  put  a  stop  to 
it  an  a  short  way.  He  got  a  block  with  an  axe,  and  placed 
them  convenient,  and  told  the  children  with  a  firm  and  positive 
tone,  that  if  any,  except  the  ^rst  one,  did  so  again,  he  would  cul 


THE   AFFLICTED, 


^49 


©ff  their  heads  on  that  block.— This  was  an  effectual  cure. 
Aiid  thus  you  see  the  power  of  imagination  in  cuniij?,  as  well 
as  of  imitation  in  producing  diseases.     The  eft'ects  of  the  ima- 
gination  and  imitation  upon  the  nervous  and  muscular  systems, 
have  lon«y  been  known  to  take  place  with  enthusiastic  and  fa- 
natical professors  of  religion.   That  the  Holy  Ghost  does  operate 
upon  the  hearts  of  men,  and  that  in  so  powerful  a  way  as  to 
make  them  new  creatures  in  Christ  Jesus,  that  is,  true  christ 
ians,    here  is  no  rea  onable  ground  to  doubt.     And  that  the 
persons  on  whom  he  thus  operates  are  differently  aflected,  is 
eq  lally  plain.     Sjme  are  suddendly  and  more  highly  wrought 
up  and  agitated   than  others;  some  know  the  time  of  his  com- 
mencement; others  do  not.      But  that  these  operations  and  ef- 
fects may  be  counterfeited  and  often  are,  is  equally  plain.     It 
is  possible  for  these  counterfeits  to  proceed  from  the  devil  him- 
self; but  I  apprehend  it  is  much  more  common  for  them  to  pro- 
ceed from  a  distempered  imagination,  and  that  they  can  generally 
be  accounted   for  on   such  philosophical  principles  as  the  fore, 
going.     The  church  has,  in  most  ages,  b  en  disturbed  and  dis- 
graced by  wild  enthusiasts  and  fanatics.     Sach  were  in  their 
commencement  the  x^Ienonites,  Anabaptists,  French  prophets, 
Qiakers,  Shakers  and   New-Lights  of  this  western  country, 
and  others  whom  Iwill  not  delay  to  mention.    The  Shakers  are 
the  most  deluded  fanatics  in   the  United  States  of  America, 
which  at  present  disgrace  the  human  understanding  among  us. 
In  order  for  you  more  fully  and  satisfactorily  to  learn  the  effects 
of  the  mind  over  the  bod'v,  in  all  these  different  ways  and  res- 
pects of  which  I  have  spoken,  for  the  purpose  of  knowing  your 
own  disease,  and  being   much  profited  by  that  knowledge,  I 
would  refer  you  to  medical  l30oks,  medical  journals,   and   to 
church  history.     You  will  find   them  quite  largely  and  satis- 
factorily treated  upon  in  Ree.s'  cyclopaedia,  under  the  articles— 
hypocondriasis,  hysteria,  imagination,  imitation,  nervous  sys"- 
tern,  mental  derangement,  &c.     And  I  would   refer  you  to  a 
little  book,  not  many  years  since  written  in  New-England  by 
a  3Ir.   Powers— »^Oa  the  effects  of  the  imagination  upon  the 
ncrvojs  system."     You  will  find  this,  plain,  practical,  full  and 
jatjj'factory  on  all  the  above  points. 

By  this  course,  mv  friend,  if  you  are  not  too  far  gone,--^ 
too  de  jplv,  inexplicably  and  inextricably  involved  and  envel^ 
oped  in  the  thick  glooms  and  dark  clouds  of  melancholy,  you 
may  bo  enabled  and  be  successful  in  doing  much  towards  find- 
ing your  own  relief  and  consolation. 

The  next  idea  which  I  shall  offer  to  your  view  and  consider 
ration  for  consulution,  you  and  others,  wi41  perhaps  consider  fv 


160  CONSOLATIONS   OF 

very  extraordinary  one.  It  is  that  your  life  will  likely  be  longv 
Neither  I  nor  any  other  finite  being  can  give  you  any  guaran- 
tee or  security  for  long  life.  By  some  one  of  the  thousand 
ways  by  which  men  are  brought  to  their  death,  you  may  be,  I 
cannot  tell  how  soon,  it  is  possible  within  a  few  hours. 

What  I  mean  by  your  having  a  prospect  for  long  life,  is  that 
your  melancholy  or  nervous  disease  is  not  one  of  those  diseases 
which  take  people  off  early.  On  the  contrary,  the  long  and 
general  observation  of  mankind  has  been  and  is,  that  the  lives 
ofpersonsofthis  character  are  generally  marked  with  longevity. 

This  is  the  case  while  at  the  same  time  they  themselves 
never  thmk,  or  very  rarely  think,  that  they  will  live  long. 
Indeed,  they  are  the  patients,  who  very  frequently  apprehend, 
and  think,  and  believe  that  they  caimot  live  long,  that  it  is  in- 
possible,  that  they  must  die  in  a  few  years,  at  the  farthest  extent. 
And  how  numerous  are  the  examples  of  those  among  them,  who 
have  apprehended,  and  firmly  believed,  and  said  that  death  was 
upon  them;  that  they  would  be  dead  in  a  few  minutes,  that  they 
were  dying;  and  not  a  few  have  said,  and  positively  affirmed 
and  adheared  to  the  affirmation  that  they  were  dead.  Their 
coffins  have  not  only  been  made  for  them,  but  they  have  been 
put  into  them,  and  the  funeral  procession  have  started  off  with 
them  to  their  grave;  but  as  it  happens,  they  generally  break 
out  before  they  get  into  those  cold,  lonely,  dismal  cells,  and 
furiously  chide  those,  who  were  carrying  them  thither. 

I  have  already  explained  the  cause  and  manner  of  these  their 
great  and  dreadful  mistakes  and  errors,  when  speaking  of  the 
nervous  system. 

If  there  is  an  object  of  pity  to  be  found  among  all  thesuffe- 
ling  mortals  of  the  earth  they  present  it.  Bat  enough  on  this 
point;  what  1  have. said  is  sufficient  to  show  that  it  is  not  only 
possible  for  you  to  live  lonjf,  but  probable  that  you  will  do  so. 
The  aJvantages  of  a  lon^  lite  should  it  be  given  to  you,  and  the 
consolation  which  you  may  derive  from  it,  will  be  that  you  will 
havo  time  allowed  you  to  study,  and  discover,  and  learn,  and 
know  your  disease,  as  I  have  advised  you  to  study  it  out,  and 
thus  be  enabled  to  manage  it. 

Again,  you  will  have  longer  time  and  opportunity,  not  only 
to  hope  to  recover,  but  actually  to  do  so.  O.ving  to  the  intense 
and  almost  invincible  lore  of  life  in  man,  I  exp^^ct  this  idea  will 
not  fail  to  console  you.  When  you  have  a  very  gloomy  spell , 
and  feel  like  desponding  and  despairing  of  getting  along  in 
any  thing  like  a  comfortable  manner,  it  may  console  you  to 
^teflect  and  remember  that  the  fee  ings  of  all  others  do  not 
change  and  fiuctaate  as   yours  do.    Suddenly  and  frequently 


4TIB  APPLlCTBtt.  25-1 

getting  worse  and  getting  better,  as  I  have  before  hinted  to 
you,  will  most  likely  be  your  constant  course. 

And  one  of  your  spells  will  affect  vour  mind,  and  make  yoa 
feel  gloomy,  and  like  despairing,  and  giving  up  all,  as  comple- 
tely as  a  severe  fever  does  a  common  patient.  But  you  are  ia 
nothing  like  the  danger  that  he  is.  It  will  be  a  consolation  to 
you,  I  ?ay,  that  all  others  are  not  tossed  upon  the  winds  and 
waves  of  irritable,  uncertain  and  deceitfil  feelings  as  you  are. 
Were  they,  and  did  melancholy  hang  upon  their  brows  and 
becloud  their  faces  as  it  does  yours,  it  would  make  you  worse, 
whereas  l)eing  as  it  is,  their  Cijuutenances  sharpen  yours. 

Furthermore,  it  will  be  no  small  consolation  to  you,  that  meo 
and  things  generally  do  not  change  with  your  changes. — Creation 
moves  on  regularly,  amidst  all  its  varieties,  in  its  straight  forward 
course. — The  earth  rolls — the  sun,  moon  and  stars  rise  and  set — 
?pring,  summer,  autunm  and  winter  succeed  each  other,  with  the 
early  and  the  latter  rains — the  bow  is  in  the  cloud — the  earth  ia 
not  drowned — "seed  time  and  harvest,  and  cold  and  heat,  aiid 
day  and  night  do  not  cease  "  Therefore,  lift  up  your  head,  and 
be  encouraged,  O  thou  sorrowful  and  gloomy  one'.  Creation 
smiles,  and  how  can  you  refrain?  You  need  not  suppose  that 
others  have  not  some  troubles  and  uirjls,  as  well  as  yourself,  or 
that  they  have  not  causes,  greater  or  less,  for  melancholy.  There 
is  no  one  that  is  entirely  without;  notwithstanding,  they  hold  up 
their  heads,  look  cheerful,  and  smile,  in  the  midst  of  this  beautiful, 
splendid  and  smiling  creation,  which  the  great  Creator  has  placed 
around  his  creatures  here  below.  Busy  and  active  in  the  moviiing 
they  turn  every  one  to  his  or  her  own  emplo\ment,  until  tho 
**evening  shades  prevail,"  and  then  all  return  for  the  repose  of 
the  night.  And  here  rises  to  view  the  next  grf  at  source  of  con- 
solution,  to  which  I  shall  most  seriously,  and  most  earnestly  di- 
rect }ouY  attention.  This  is,  some  suitable  employment  for  ex- 
ercise, and  to  divert  your  thoughts  from  your  troul.'le.  I  have 
already  recommended  it  to  the  chronic  patient.  From  a  very 
extensive  knowl'^dge  of  the  suhject,  and  from  the  opinions  of 
others,!  consider  this  a  matter  of  vital  importance  to  you,  and 
indispensihle  to  your  comfort  and  recovery.  Neglect,  refuse  (*r 
reject  this,  and  you  have  no  ground  to  hope.  If  you  are  not  con- 
fined to  your  bed,  or  if  you  cnn  barely  rise  off  it  and  walk,  and 
this  only  at  times,  you  should  think  of  some  useful,  proper,  and 
if  possii'le,  profitable  employment,  at  which  you  might  do  at  least 
a  little.  In  vain  will  you  think  and  say  that  you  are  too  weak. — 
All  experience  loudly  exclaims — take  exercise!  take  exercise!  if 
you  can  but  walk  or  creep  a  little;  and  this  especially  to  patients 
«tf  your  order.     It  is  true  that  jou  do,,  at  times,  becoiBe  very 


252  CM>N?OLATlONg  OF 

weak,  but  if  you  have  no  local  disorder,  or  whether  or  not,  youi 
weakness  is  of  a  peculiar  kind.  It  will  both  come  on  and  go  off 
quicker,  than  the  weakness  of  patients  laboring  under  other  dis- 
eases. Someiiines  when  you  may  be  so  weak  that  you  cannot 
rise  up,  in  a  few  hours,  yea,  sometimes  in  a  few  minutes,  your 
strength  will  come  to  you,  and  you  will  be  able  to  go  almost 
where  you  please,  and  to  do  almost  what  you  please.  Such  is  the 
peculiar  and  extraordiniry  nature  of  the  disease.  Perhaps 
some  may  think  that  it  is  not  real  weakness,  but  conceited  weak- 
ness. To  this  I  reply,  that  conceited  weakness  may  be  real; 
no  matter,  so  it  is  weakness,  whether  the  cause  be  real  or 
imaginary.  Imaginary  pain  may  be  as  great  as  any  kind. 
Admitting  it  to  be  true  then,  that  you  are  ni  a  very  weakly  state, 
it  will  not  at  all  follow,  that  you  should  not,  at  the  proper  times 
and  seasons,  exert  yoursjlf  to  take  exercise.  You  may  injure 
yourself  by  taking  it  improperly,  or  too  much,  as  well  as  by  taking 
too  little.  By  exercise  strengtJi  is  gained.  But  in  the  takinc;  of 
it,  the  diverting  of  your  rnind  from  trouble,  and  occupying  its  at- 
tention, I  consider,  for  you,  of  unspeakably  great  importance. 
Man  was  not  made  for  idleness.  In  idleness  he  will  work  his 
own  misery.  If  he  has  strength,  he  will  be  vicious — if  not,  but 
is  confined  to  his  bed,  liis  thoughts  will  go  out  and  wander  in 
endless,  and  fruitless,  and  profitless  vacuity;  or  will  turn  upon 
himself  and  pore,  and  pore,  and  pore  over  his  own  trouhles,  and 
thus  magnify  them. 

Therefore,  no  proverb  or  wise  saying  ever  was  spoken  by  the 
tongue  of  tnan,  or  written  u'ith  a  pen,  more  fully  and  sirictly  true, 
than  that  one  which  says- -"Idleness  is  the  mother  of  mischief."  If, 
then,  you  are  determined  to  rivet  helplessness,nnd  misery,  and  ruin, 
upon  yourself,  so  that  no  earthly  means  or  power  can  ever  unrivet 
IhemjSink  down  and  give  up  to  absolute  idleness.  Or  rather,  are 
you  determined  and  resolved  to  exort  y  )urself  to  the  last  degree, 
and  the  l:ist  moment,  lo  shake  off  your  troubl«^s  and  to  rise  above 
them,  rou^c  yourself  up  lo  exi  rcise,  and  to  as  constant  and  busy 
employment  as  your  strength  will  at  all  admit  of,  and  I  will  con- 
fidently predict,  that  the  advantages  which  you  will  reap  will  he 
great.  You  m^y  do  something  towards  earning  your  livinf^,  and 
not  eat  the  bread  of  others.  Or  if  you  are  as  we:iltliy  as  Crcr.sj.'S, 
and  have  no  need  of  doing  this,  do  it  to  gain  the  far  greater  and 
far  better  riches  of  health  and  comfort.  Do  as  1  did  in  the  d-ys 
of  my  feebleness  for  months,  before  1  commenced  the  writintjf  of 
this  lx>ok;  do  any  of  ihe  light,  ordinary  concerns,  afthirsor  works 
of  life,  which  are  useful  and  most  needed,  and  which  you  can  Ixst 
do.  And  as  I  have  done,  in  writing  this  book,  for  a  greater  niunber 
Af  months  still  •  putting  foi  th  what  Utile  strength  1  hud  tt)  rise 


THE   AFFLICfEl>.  25c? 

fforn  the  bed,  and  to  creep  away  to  the  table  or  desk,  and  brace 
myself  up  to  write,  perhaps  only  one  sentence,  or  it  may  be  two 
or  hree,  or  a  short  page  and  then  getting  back  again.  Be  very 
careful  however,  to  turn  your  attention  to  that  which  you  and 
others  most  seriously  think,  promises  the  most  usefulness  and 
good  in  the  world,  to  yourself  and  others. 

Such  is  the  intrinsic,  and  Ijmay  safely  say,  indescribable  excel- 
lence, of  having  the  mind  occupied  and  entertained,  in  ca?eslike 
yours,  by  some  useful  employment,  that  the  indolent,  whose  indo- 
lence is  so  great,  that  they  will  neither  do  nor  attempt  any  thing 
of  the  kind,  deserve  no  consolation  whatever,  however  much  hey 
may  need  it.  What  is  such  useful,  entertaining  emuloym»^nt 
like,  in  its  operations  and  etfects?  'Tis  like  the  -effe^'s  of  ihe 
indispensable  vital  air,  which  we  breathe.  'Tis  like  thehe^il'hy 
flowing  of  our  heart's  blood  through  our  veins  and  arterios. — 'Tis 
almost  an  essential  part  of  our  life.  Therefore,  it  is  not  onlv  our 
duty  to  do  "whatever  our  hands  find  to  do,"  to  procure  our  living, 
or  to  advance  our  own  and  rhe  best  interests  of  others,  but  our 
high  privilege.  1  consider  it,  tny  friend,  one  of  the  best  and 
most  promising  sources  of  relief  and  C0ti«()l  ition,  for  ifou.  The 
greatest,  best  and  last  source  of  consr >la;ion  to  which  I  shall 
direct  your  attention,  is  the  iirornises  nf  the  Bible. 

Melancholv!  melancholy!  indeed!  vvould  be  this  world  of 
darkness  and  of  wo,  were  there  no  world  of  light,  nor  anv  hope 
in  man  of  attaining  to  that  world.  Hud  no*  the  ete'nal  Ki';g, 
who  dwfdls  in  the  world  of  light,  who  is  benevolence  and  love 
itself,  whose  empire  is  the  univerr^e,  with  all  its  worlds,  looked 
down  in  pity,  and  let  fall  a  promise,  to  be  seized  and  hrUl  ;y 
mebnrholy  man. — Had  not  the  kind  angels  sung  their  anylic 
song — "  'lory  to  God  in  the  hij/hest,  and  on  e-rth  pe;ice, 
good  will  toward  men."  .  And,  hid  not  the  Messiah,  the  Saviour 
come  and  fulfilled  all  the  preceding  promi:«is  concerning  him- 
self, and  given,  from  his  own  month,  *  vast  multitiide  of  encour- 
aging words  and  precioirs  proinis'^s,  assuring  men  that  the  world 
of  light,  was  re.lly  attninable  l)V  them,  and  encouragin'r  them  o 
turn  their  faces  towards  it.  But  nil  these  things  have  actu.-lly 
taken  pl;ice.  The  Bible  abounds  with  promises,  from  b'-ginning 
to  end. — Then''s  scarcely  ^  leaf  on  which  von  c:innot  find  one. 
And  man  may  look  up,  and  lift  iiis  voice  on  high — saying  — 

"Yet  pave  a  trembling  sinner,  Lnid, 
Whose  hope  still  hov'rinjr  round   thy  wor^i, 

Wou'H  light  on  some  sweet  prn.nise  there, 
Some  3iue  support  against  despair.'* 


254  sJONSOLAl^IOXS  M? 

These  promises  are  of  two  general  characters. — First,  to  gb 
courage  men  while  here  below,  in  all  they  have  to  do  and  suffer 
• — and  next,  to  hold  out  to  their  view,  the  bright  and  joyful  world 
of  light,  for  their  entrance  at  their  departure.  And  who  of  all 
the  sons  and  daughters  of  men,  need  tliem  more,  ^han  the  doubt- 
ing, the  desponding,  the  gloomy,  the  melancholy?  None,  and 
for  them  they  were  specially  written.  Turn  to  them,  then,  my 
friend,  and  read  them,  and  believe  them,  ana  embrace  them,  and 
hold  on  to  them,  and  they  will  bear  you  up  as  the  strong  ship 
does  tlie  sinking,  drowning  man,  when  he  has  again  obtained  a 
firm  hold  of  it.  As  the  strong  ship! — contemptible  comparison! 
as  the  "everlasting  arms"  of  the  eternal  God,  underneath  you. 
I  will  give  you  a  few,  for  a  specimen  of  the  whole,  and  for  your 
encouragement. 

"When  thou  art  in  tribulation,  and  all  these  things  are  come 
upon  thee,  *  *  'S^  *  *  if  thou  turn  to  the  Lord  thy  God, 
and  shalf  be  oljedient  unto  his  voice;  (for  the  Lord  thy  God  is  a 
merciful  God;)  he  will  not  forsike  thee,  neither  destroy  thee,  nor 
forget  the  covenant  of  thy  fathers,  which  he  sware  unto  them." 
'*in  a  little  wrath  I  hid  my  face  from  thee,  for  a  moment:  but 
■with  everhisting  kindness  will  T  have  mercy  upon  thee,  saith  tho 
Lord  thy  Redeemer.  For  the  mountains  sh.ill  depart,  and  the 
bills  be  removed;  but  my  kindness  shall  not  depart  from  'hee, 
neither  shall  the  covenant  of  my  peace  be  removed,  sai'h  the 
Lord  that  bath  mercy  on  t'  -^e,  O  ihou  afflict*  d,  tossed  with  ♦em- 
pest,  and  not  comforted,  beh.>ld,"  F  will  lay  thy  stones  with  fair 
colors,  and  lay  thy  foundations  with  sapphires.  And  I  will  mike 
thy  windows  of  agates,  md  thy  aates  of  carbuncle^  and  all  thy 
born ers  of  pleas. =nt  ston<-:s.'"  "Miuy  are  the  afflictions  of  the 
righteous:  but  the  Lord  delivereth  him  out  of  them  all.  He 
keepeth  all  his  bones;  not  one  of  tJKsm  is  broken.  Evil  shdl  si  ly 
the  wicked!  and  tiiey  that  hate  the  righteous  shall  be  de*?  lite. 
The  Lord  redeemeth  the  soul  of  his  servants:  and  none  of  them 
that  trust  in  him  shall  be  desolate.'^ 

T.'ieseare  the  words  that  contain  the  promise — none  of  thf^m 
that  trust  in  him  shall  be  desf-lue.  Agjin — "He  shall  he  like  a 
tree  plaiited  by  the  rivers  of  w  ter,  that  brifinerh  f  »rth  his  fruit 
in  his  season:  his  leaf  dso  shall  not  wi  her;  and  whatsoever  he 
doeth  sh  ill  prosper."  "The  steps  of  a  good  man  are  ordered  by 
the  Lord:  anrl  he  deliijhtoth  in  his  way.  Though  he  fall  he  shr;^U 
not  be  utteHy  cist  down:  for  the  Lord  upholdeth  him  with  his 
hand  '\  "When  thou  passest  through  the  waters,  I  will  be  wi'h 
thee;  and  Uirough  the  rivers  they  shall  not  overflow  thee:  whm 
thoti  walkest  throunrh  the  fire,  thou  shult  not  be  burned:  nr-ifher 
shall  the  flame  kindle  upon  thee.     For  I  am  the  Lord  thy  God, 


TH«   APFLlCTLb.  '^Oi> 

the  Holy  One  of  Israel,  thy  Saviour."  "The  J.ord  will  strength- 
en him  upon  the  bed  of  languishing:  thou  will  make  all  his  bed 
in  his  sickness."  "And  I  will  bring  the  third  part  through  the 
fire,  and  will  refine  them  as  silver  is  refined,  and  will  try  them 
as  gold  IS  tried  :  they  shall  call  on  my  name,  and  I  will  hear  them: 
I  will  say,  It  is  my  people:  and  they  shall  say.  The  Lord  is  my 
God."  Open  your  ears  rny  friend,  to  these  promises — "Blessed 
are  they  that  rnourn,  for  they  shall  be  comforted.  Blessed  are  the 
poor  in  spirit,  for  theirs  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  Blessed  are 
they  which  do  hunger  and  thirst  after  righteousness,  for  they  shall 
be  filled.  Blessed  are  the  merciful,  for  they  shall  otitain  mercy. 
Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see  God."  "He  that 
ioseth  his  life  for  my  sake"  (s;iys  Christ)  ''shall  find  it."  "He 
that  endurelh  unio  the  end  shall  be  saved."  "Thou  slinlt  have 
treasure  in  heaven."  "Shalt  inherit  everlasting  life."  "Be  thou 
faithful  unto  death,  and  I  will  give  thee  a  crown  of  life."  "To 
him  that  overcometh  will  i  give  to  eat  of  the  tiee  of  life,  which 
is  in  the  midst  of  the  paradise  of  God.  He  that  overcometh 
shall  not  be  hurt  of  the  second  death.  To  him  that  overcometh 
will  1  give  to  eat  of  the  hidden  manna,  and  will  give  him  a  white 
stone,  and  in  the  stone  a  new  name  written,  which  no  man  know^ 
eth  saving  he  that  receiveth  it."  And  what  more  could  be 
promised,  than  is  promised  in -the  following  passage — "To  him 
that  overcometh  will  I  grant  to  sit  with  me  in  my  throne,  even  as 
I  also  overcame,  and  am  set  down  with  my  Father  in  his  throne." 
1  will  mention  two  mOre — tlie  first  of  the  two  was  given  to  Job, 
and  will  therefore  suit  you.  "If  iniquity  be  in  thy  hand,  put  it 
far  away,  and  let  not  wickedness  dwell  in  thy  tabernacles.  For 
then  shalt  ihou  lift  up  thy  face  without  spot;  ye%  fhou  shult  be 
steadfast,  and  sh:ilt  not  fear:  because  thou  shalt  forget  thy  misery, 
and  remember  it  as  wafers  that  pa.ss  au'ay:  and  thine  age  shall 
be  clearer  than  the  noon  d  ly;  tho'i  shalt  shine  forth,  thou  shalt 
be  as  the  morning.  And  thou  shalt  he  secure,  because  there  is 
iiope;  yea,  thou  shalt  dig  about  thee,  and  thou  shalt  take  thy  rest 
in  siftty." 

The  next,  and  lisS  that  I  shall  pvopo?e  for  your  consideration, 
is  one  which  is  sufficient  of  irself  to  revive  and  suppori  the  droop- 
ins  spirits  of  the  most  melancholy  person  that  cm  be  found,  if 
his  or  her  melanch  ;ly  dees  not  go  l)oyond  the  limits  of  melan- 
choly, into  actual  insanity;  or  w!iat  is  worse,  if  he  or  she  has  not 
commiltcd  the  sin  :'g  finst  the  Hely'.Jhost.  It  is  tender  aiul  af- 
fectionate beyond  paral'el,  beyond  comp-irison.  It  was  breathed 
from  the  mild  li{)S  of  the  Prince  uf  pcce^— the  Prince  of  life,  to 
whom  •.-,11  power  in  heaven  tnd  eartli  is  committed,  and,  who  i§ 
iible  to  ful^l  all  his  promises — always  did,  and  always  will.— 


25b  CONSOLATIONS   OF 

These  are  the  sweet  and  sootiiing  words,  in  which  it  fell  from  Iiib 
sacred  and  holy  hps — "Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled:  ye  believe 
in  (jod,  believe  also  in  me.  In  my  Father's  house  are  many  man- 
sions: if  it  were  not  so  1  would  have  told  you,  I  go  lo  prepare 
a  place  for  you.  And  if  J  go  and  prepare  a  plice  for  you,  1  will 
come  again  and  receive  you  unto  myself;  that  where  I  am  ihere  ye 
may  be  also."  1  conclude  therefore,  with  the  aapostle  Peter — 
that  there  are  given  unto  us — yea,  unto  you,  many  "exceeding 
great  and  jjiecious  })romist^s,*'  1  would  say  then,  to  you,  with 
the  exhortaiion  of  this  tuime  ap(>stle — "Wherefore  let  them  thai 
suffei  r ceo  1  ding  to  the  will  of  Cod,  commit  the  keeping  of  their 
souls  to  him  in  well  doing,  as  unto  a  faithful  Creator."  This 
closes  all  I  can  do  or  say  for  you,  my  dear  friend;  attend  to  these 
things — hold  up  your  head — "he  of  good  cheer" — beat  the  clouds 
from  about  you — come  forih  into  the  light — he  cheerful  and 
lively — ind  all  will  lie  well,  and  end  well.  And  now  1  must  bid 
you  an  aiiectionate  farewell. 
^ept.  2i)th.  1830. 

To  all  those  who  are  conversant  with  the  melancholy,  and  es- 
pecially to  \]\',?e  who  live  with  them,  and  nw)re  especially  siill,  to 
their  relations,  who  are  with  them,  and  deeply  interested  i  i  thom, 
I  feel  it  to  be  my  indispr-nsable  duty  to  say  a  word.  My  dear 
friends,  it  is  a  clear,  rnarufest  and  unquestionable  truth,  <hat  you 
can  do  more,  much  more  for  ihem,  tiani  they  can  for  themselves. 
Is  the  proverb  true? — "Iron  sharpen^th  iron;  so  a  man  sharpen- 
eth  the  cruutenance  of  his  friend!"  Nothirg  is  more  true. — 
Great!  greit!  then,  will  be  your  p(nver  and  influence  over  them, 
more  restorative  thin  all  medicines  besides,  than  any  othe.  cor- 
dial or  balsam  of  life,  if  you  will  propeily  exert  it.  As  J  huve 
befure  hined,  the  great  law  of  kindness  will  be  the  best  law  to 
govt^n  yourcondu'  t  towards  them,  I  do  not  mean  that  you  should 
caiess  them,  and  indulge  them,  to  a  weak,  simple  and  foolish  ex- 
tent. They  should  know  their  place  and  keep  in  it.  Let  the 
law  of  kindness  then,  be  upon  your  tongues  continually,  anr!  be 
plainly  exhibited  m  your  countenances,  ihut  tluy  m  y  at  nil  limes 
h(;ir  and  read  it.  Let  your  gener:il  Cciniage  towards  them  be 
pV^usant,  cheerful,  smilins.  Exert  all  thn  ingenuity  you  possit-ly 
can,  to  rouse  them  to  cheerfulness  and  life.  There  is  room  for 
as  much  ingenuity  here,  as  in  any  oiiie>  case.  Be  iiatient  ^lud 
persevering  in  your  efforts .  Do  not  de^paii  yourselves  too  sron — 
hold  on  and  h(^ld  out — do  not  give  them  up,  and  may  success 
crow^  your  eft'^rts. 

It  will  be  recollected  by  the  voder,  th-<t  in  the  enrly  part  of 
whai  1  hcve  said  for  the  melancholy,  1  spoke-  of  the  disorders  of 


THE   AFFUCTED.  2&5 

the  mind  being  generally  classed  into  two  general  classes — to-witc 
melancholia  and  mania.  On  mania,  I  have  as  yet,  said  nothing. 
I  must  not  however,  close  without  saying,  at  least,  a  word,  not  to 
those  who  labor  under  mania,  for  they  are  incapable  of  hearing 
me,  (as  I  remarked  in  the  very  beginning  of  my  work.)  but  to 
those  who  have  the  charge  and  care  of  them.  1  have  already  said 
that  mania  is  a  Greek  word,  and  means  fury.  Many  other  words 
are  used  which  convey  the  same  idea.  The  word  in«ane,  is  from 
the  Latin,  and  simply  means  unsound.  Delirium  is  from  the  Latin 
words,  de  lira,  that  is  from  the  ridge.  When  their  oxen  in 
ploughing,  would  deviate  from  the  right  line,  they  were  said  to  go, 
de  lira.  This  was  transferred  to  men  when  they  would  wander  in 
their  minds.  Tho  Latin  word  luna,  means  the  moon,  and  be- 
cause the  moon  was  supposed  to  affect  the  mind,  when  persons 
became  much  disordered  in  their  minds,  they  were  calif  d  lunatic. 
'*rhis  word  has  been,  and  is  still,  much  used  in  legal  proceedings 
concerning  the  msane  in  England  and  America.  They  are  also 
called  mad.  Haslam  derives  this  word  from  the  gothic  language, 
and  saysit  means  fury,  or  furious.  The  word  derangement,  is  a 
French  word,  and  means  out  of  the  proper  course.  The  wo'-d 
crazy,  is  a  French  word  also,  and  means  cr:icked,  shattered  or 
broken  into  pieces,  because  the  vulgar  opinion  was,  that  the  mmds 
of  deranged  persons  were  broken  into  fragments.  All  these  terms 
are  used  to  express  that  degree  of  mental  alienation,  which  is  so 
great,  that  the  persons  laboring  under  it,  are  no  longer  rational. 
The  kinds  and  degrees  of  it  are  about  as  various  and  numerous 
as  those  that  have  it.  1  have,  at  my  very  outset,  recognized  this 
as  the  greatest  natural,  temporal  affliction^  to  which  man  is  liable 
and  subject  on  the  earth.  They  are  beyond  the  reach  of  written 
words — I  cannot  speak  to  them  as  \  have  to  others.  But  I  can 
speak  for  them,  and  will  now  do  it  with  a  warm  heart,  with  nil 
my  heart.  I  will  not  attempt  nor  presume  to  tell,  how  their  minds 
are  affected,  for  this  no  body  knows,  nor  can  know.  That  their 
minds  are  not  gone  from  their  bodies,  appears  from  the  f^ict,  that 
they  frequently  recover,  and  are  rational  again;  and  this  circum- 
stance should  be  encouraging  to  all  their  friends.  To  all  who 
have  care  over  them,  and  management  of  them,  relations,  friends, 
attendants,  nurses  and  physicians,  f  would  respectfully  but  seri-^ 
ously  say,  that,  as  with  the  melancholy,  so  with  the  insane,  the 
law  of  kindness  is  the  best,  I  know  that  in  governing  them,  se- 
verity is  sometimes'  necessary  and  indispenSible,  but  whenever 
kindness  can  reach  them,  it  has  the  most  happy  and  restorative  ef- 
fect of  all  things  else.  Therefore,  when  there  is  an  opening,  be 
free  and  friendly  with  them — talk  familiarly  to  them,  just  as  if 
Clothing  were  the  matter,  and  bring  to  their  view,  things  and  cir- 


:358  OOXSOLATIONS    OF 

-cumstances  which  you  think  will  please  them;  and  this  will  haviB 
the  greatest  tendency  to  bring  them  to  themselves.  Be  faithful 
to  them  in  giving  them  proper  food,  and  keeping  them  cleanly, 
and  in  all  things  vvhicli  you  ha\e  to  do  for  them.  To  physicians 
I  would  say,  try  every  thing  else,  before  a  severe  course  of  medic^il 
treatment.  Let  change  of  scenery,  and  of  company,  and  of  diet, 
&c.  entirely  and  clearly  fail,  before  you  commence  it.  Multi- 
tudes, multitudes  of  insane  persons,  and  some  within  my  knowl- 
edge, have  been  greatly  mjured,  by  too  hasty  and  too  severe  medi- 
cal treatment,  and  would  have  manifestly  recovered  better  and 
quicker  without  it.  And  by  it,  insanity  has  been  riveted  on 
hundreds  who  would  otherwise  have  got  well.  When  you  think 
then,  of  strong  cathnrtico,  of  the  lancet,  uf  shaving  the  head,  and 
piling  on  blisters,  of  solitary  confinement,  and  of  the  awful  straight 
jacket;  remember  also,  that  they  are  still  human,  and  capable  of 
feeling;  and,  looking  forward  to  the  possibility  of  your  being  in^ 
sane  yourselves,  do  unto  them  as  you  would  now  wish  others  to  do 
unto  you,  if  you  should  actually  fall  into  the  same  unhappy  con- 
dition. Do  not  commence  such  a  course  with  them,  without  you, 
with  good  and  numerous  counsel,  deliberately  come  to  the  con- 
clusion, that  it  is  most  advisable.  Some  of  you,  in  the  course  of 
your  practice,  become  very  much  hardened  with  respect  to  the 
feelings  of  others;  and  some  of  you  have  a  strong  propensity  to 
try  experiments,  whenever  an  occasion  offers,  particularly  upon  the 
unhappy  beings  of  whom!  am  speaking,  you  should  resist  such 
feelings  and  such  propensities,  lest  you  give  way  to  the  tempta- 
tion, and  make  such  exoeriments  -unnecessarily,  «t  the  expense  of 
your  unhappy  fellow  mortals.  May  you  be  guided  by  sound  mor- 
al motives,  as  well  as  the  highest  skill  in  sll  your  treatment  of 
them,  and  may  your  efforts,  and  the  eflbrts  of  their  friends  issue 
in  their  happy  restoration. 

'    I  have  now  accomplished  my  plan,  and   would  say  by    way  of 
Conclusion. — All  over  the  earth,  wherever  the  afflicted  are  to  be 
found,  and  whatever  be  their  afflictions,  may  they  do  nil  that  is  in 
■their  power  to  console  themselves.     May  their  relations,   friends, 
and  acquaintances  console  them.     May  good  men  and  good  wo- 
men console  them.     May  kind  invisible  spirits  console    them. 
May  God  Almighty  himself,  "the  God  of  ^11  comfort,"  who   can 
^•^'everlasting  consolation  and  good  hope  through  «;rarr,"  be 
^,'^       v«d  to  pity  and  console  them,  in  time  and  through  eternity. 

t/'f  — Almost  as  often  as  there  are  sentences  in  this  book,  I  have  piayed 

Jrote.  would  blees  me  in  the  uTiting  of  it.   and  now  as  1  am  writing  the  last 

ihat  God  <i  word,  my  most  earnest  and  devout  prayer  is,  that  he  may  make  it 

sentence  an  ^  mjinkipd. 

^  bJessjn^  to  -     -    •      -  .-' 


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